more of the same
she was frying bacon
like it was going out of style
and once the aroma woke me
I quickly found some shorts
and hurried down the stairs
winds blew wickedly outside
but you could hardly tell
kitchen radio blasting rock music
silencing all the backyard chimes
composing their own scores
what’s the matter she asked
did you think I was going
to burn down the place
or did I make you ravenously
hungry for more of the same
january two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
