Mike Acker

Sunday Mourning - Poem by Mike Acker

Real butter, for a change, melts on my toast
with apricot jam, spread thickly, like I like it.

Cold, caloried cream swirls in my fresh brewed coffee,
with a teaspoon of real sugar, stirred.

Habits die hard, having just cooked an omelette
for two, only one may eat.

Glasses slide low on the bridge of my nose,
Sunday paper ready to go.

The pool's blue tiles glisten under
this early sunshine.

What a glorious morning this could have
been, had she not packed up and left me

with this Sunday mourning.

Topic(s) of this poem: love

Comments about Sunday Mourning by Mike Acker

  • Juan Olivarez (5/5/2014 12:55:00 PM)

    Ok. Now I understand the spelling in the title. Great poem. Good play on words. (Report) Reply

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Poem Submitted: Monday, May 5, 2014

Poem Edited: Saturday, February 21, 2015

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