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poem: 1:39 a.m.

(163 words) 23 June 2018

by S.R.A. Markin

strips of ham from a package
the floor cracks beneath my feet
sandals smack the soles
as i creak down the stairs
cast in shadows
from my headlamp
two cats lay at the bottom
a box moves, another cat strikes the lid
i close the basement door behind me
quieting my brother’s snores from the next room
sliced cold cuts of ham
sizzling on a little frying pan
over a kerosene blue flame
sitting on a desk
two cracked eggs
and butter,
bread being toasted.
a candle lit
and decaf orange pekoe
with sugar
real sugar
real white sugar.
placing the plate down,
next to the computer
i sit on a stability ball
the room is dim
the monitor projects
so many of each
more words than pages
i press the large protruding keys
on my wired keyboard
i work with what i have,
and i refuse to work for anything else
so i am a writer
at 1:47 a.m.


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