Final Analysis
(Hidden pitfall; judging a Poetry Contest)
I like to approach
the final pass
at morning sunrise,
after a long restful renewal.
This was not that morning;
awake at 2:00 AM
baking cookies by 7:30.
On the fourth cup of java
crispy peanut butter crunch
wades across my tongue,
floating downward
in a warm, brown stream
to settle in fat cells
on waist and hips
as the spoken words
cross my lips.
Copyright © Cona Adams | Year Posted 2014
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