Churn

Pick up the butter from the table,

Sleek, squeaky cylinder of oil and food dye.

Piled high and thick and smudgy,

A cream paste to age you gracefully.

Cold drinks, soft drinks on the table.

A dash of dog’s hair in the coffee.

Your head hanging over the chilly rim,

A dirty water line from your mouth.

It’s all turning in the center of the table,

A moldable wheel made of clay,

Squeaking and pressing out breakfast for us.

We’re not eating because the butter is bad.

Advertisements

~ by SimmerSnow on December 30, 2011.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

w

Connecting to %s

 
%d bloggers like this: