Toast
Boring toast, ordinary white bread toast
nothing special, but, it was there...
sometimes it was all that was there
and it was a toy too
slapped around with butter
Sunbeam Bread child I was
dropping slice after slice after slice
of soft, bleached white, napkin bread
into the gleaming silver toaster
waiting for the "pop-up" moment
when the toast was expelled abruptly into the air
I remember eating toast all summer and mostly at night
in my grandmother's kitchen
until I became a little fat girl
I drank coke from the bottle until my teeth were bucked
Making toast was something to do
and eating it was something to do, too.
The porch swing creaked as I rocked it back and forth
my legs swinging
my mouth crunching toast
My eyes looking out into the yard
I wondered what was beyond the edge of the sky.
and who would marry me one day.
Copyright © Grits Biscuits | Year Posted 2012
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment