Fleeting Breakfast Thought Poem by GRANT FRASER

Mistake the temptress
at a corner,
makes much more sense,

a leerdammer smudge
as I collect my reading
glasses to defocus;

one route -
stand on dog's
squeaky toy,

blast - there it goes...

disappearing into vague
pink think smoke,

after meditating on dying
and all that,

or what might be best left
to look at,
if death were a permanent picture
frame, left to look at...

sigh!
the dog
has become particularly quiet...