JAM BREAD Poem by Serge Delaive

The electronic barometer predicts a round sun
this morning that I gathered up like every morning
under my quilt where I buried my dream
I went down to the kitchen in the grimy light
then I ran a black coffee
cup in hand I smoked a cigarette in the yard
the cobalt blue sky faded from the East
while the moon and Venus witnessed in silence
the world's pain to which they are indifferent
at the table I fixed up a jam tartine
which impassively I wolfed down in three
I woke the children one by one
the seed of the day was scattered
there was nothing left but to garner it
beneath the great staring eye of a surprised sun.