They know
a butt end
bread crust
torn in threes
not good enough
for me to keep
is left atop
fence posts
set out for them
my meager
attempt to sustain
all I need
the chittering
silver twitches
of defiant tail
misinterpreted
as thanks
but they know
the glass door
between us
only good enough
to keep me
from being
torn in threes.
Tag Archive | bread
4/23/2015 – Patricia A. Hawkenson’s Reflections – Believe It’s Not Butter
Believe It’s Not Butter
A Minister and his wife
ironically named Young
sold 1930’s babies
from the Ideal Maternity Home
while the unwanted ones
were staved
on molasses and water
and they lay to rest
those butterbox babies
in wooden crates
from the local dairy
used as coffins
and hundreds
of backfield mounds
were born
on the backs
of weeping women
who unknowingly fed
the notorious couple’s
voracious appetite
for bread.
4/19/2015 – Patricia A. Hawkenson’s Reflections – He Came Wanting
He Came Wanting
Softly woven
in discarded
string and grass,
he hides
his hungry babies,
and I hear him
chattering angrily
through the glass,
yet I have no time,
no stale bread
to toss his way.
My thoughts
are tied
to her clinic,
those time gorging
IV drips,
and no amount
of banging
my head
against the glass
can coax cancer
from her veins
and hand her
that small cracker,
that extra day,
that God refused
to give.
4/13/2015 – Patricia A. Hawkenson’s Reflections – You Don’t Put Catsup on a Wiener Dog
You Don’t Put Catsup on a Wiener Dog
Somehow,
probably because
I was lost
wading ankle deep
in the variety of ways
to make a sock monkey
on Pinterest,
I missed it,
and unknowingly
made a salad
when all the world
was celebrating
National Grilled Cheese Day,
and that is so sad
because I do have cheese,
and butter,
and bread,
and the born in the Midwest
Green Bay Packer Loving
fan-ability
that should have
made me fry
that puppy
ankle deep
in bacon.
8/22/09 Patricia A. Hawkenson’s Reflections
Wonder Bread
I am wearing two Wonder Bread bags
over my socks again
because today the sun decided
to flips its calendar
from winter to spring
and I am there, stick in hand.
Stomping on crunchy blackened ledges,
I help the sun’s job along
creating a wider path for my boat
as it rides the gutter flow
again and again chased
up and down my street,
water blockades formed and destroyed.
Squishing without wetness
inside my leaky rubber boots,
I pour out today’s collection
and pity the kids whose mothers
don’t serve them Wonder Bread.
5/24/09 Patricia A. Hawkenson’s Reflections
Kneading Thoughts
I was thinking about bread
how you mix the dough
form it into shapes
maybe even flavor it
with raisins or cinnamon
and raise it
and bake it
till it’s done.
There seems a finality
to the loaf
and you have to eat it
rip off chunks
or slice it
just like it is
and as you eat
you really taste
its goodness
slowly
with butter
and a glass of wine.
But then I was thinking
that there are other things
that you could slather on it
like peanut butter, apple butter
or jam
and you could make a sandwich
and fill it with an endless
variety of things
like leftover chicken
or roast beef
or ham.
That should be enough
to satisfy
until I realize
that the last of the loaf
could still become
a filler for quiche
or bread pudding
and stuffing
if left to dry enough.
And if by chance
it is forgotten
for a further undisclosed
amount of time
it is shown off at school
in science.
Today I’m toast.
Damn.
Bug Off!
I am sluggish
annoyed by the sun
too lazy to move
from my chair
when a buzzing fly
far too energetic
in this summer heat
finds the time it takes
for me to slam my
rolled up newspaper
on the table laden
with the tribute
of the farmer’s market
is far too short
as he comes to realize
I am a vengeful god.