blobs of sweet pink grapefruit spit leaping from my jabbing spoon,
and the page's surface puckers at its acid touch.
this breakfast has just bought this book,
once borrowed from the bookstore.
the new coffee-maker purrs, mark says, or it sounds like the sea.
it's the sea, i say,
but it's in the near distance.
against the breakers' soft background
we are sitting on a covered cottage porch
on a rainy day, the eaves plop,
plop plop,
plop plop,
plop,
each in their tiny puddle in the mud.
break room escape...maybe hawaii, maybe vermont, yes hawaii.
warm, wet, high on a mountain.
back up to the registers,
back up to rain through the windows,
back to books.
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