Fork and knife
Spoon and plate,
The cutlery of life
laid out, flawless in its placement.
The menace of the fork s teeth,
The emptiness of a white porcelain plate
and a white porcelain coffee cup
that holdsthe dark tar
where my early-morning thoughts are stuck.
The minute dimples of a napkin beneath the cup
Absorb the tannic caffeine stain,
And that s all I can focus on: the stain.
It upsets the delicate balance of porcelain perfection, upsets the placement.
Stained napkin. Stained shirt. Stained forehead.
Stains on my life.
I feel I wear my stains like a birthmark.
I leave before the waitress can lay out my breakfast
And my awkward legs upset the table when I get up to leave.
My exit is the momentary clutter of porcelain and the rattle of silverware.
The coffee rocks back and forth in my half-empty cup.
All day I ll carry around that stain in my head.
