Breakfast Time 7.30am - Poem by Tracy WatsonBrown
I add mayo to prawns.
Stirring, the squelch of fish on sauce is satisfying.
You eat breakfast.
A blob on the bread spreads with difficulty.
You read the newspaper.
Foil prepared, I fiddle for a knife-
'I can't hear the radio' you say.
'This is your sandwich' I think.
I mutter 'I am making your effing sandwich! '
And I don't throw the knife
But I hope a prawn chokes you.
Comments about Breakfast Time 7.30am by Tracy WatsonBrown
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