Poem Hunter
Morning Light
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Morning Light

Cold morning light hits hard the table,
Garbage stinks...i’ll take it out when I’m able,
Tried to make an egg to put upon the toast,
Tried to make it perfect, but broke the yoke.

It doesn’t take long for coffee to get cold,
I sip it anyway, as a newspaper I unfold.
In another room, one listens to a TV show,
Bursts of canned laughter in waves come and go,

Later, broken egg shells on the counter
Are gathered and wrapped in newspaper,
A headline says “World Rejoices”:
I sit again at an empty table to think of choices.

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