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Breakfast on a hot stove

Sizzling

Tempting

7 AM

Wide awake

On the telephone



Remembering sweet aroma

Hot buns, bidding the oven goodbye

Rolling out onto another plate

Its fate resting on

Hungry fingers and eager palates

On a rainy Sunday morning



I can hear the rumbling

In stereo sound on the other line

Wishing we were somewhere else

Somewhere, away from the east

To find peace

Preferably in a small hut

Adjacent to the coast

With raindrops muffling our chewing sounds



Let me invite you for breakfast,

At 7.40 AM

Even though we have been awake since…