POEM: Screams & Toast

Every scream is special.

There’s no such thing as

-a mundane scream

-a work-a-day scream

-a milquetoast scream.

Some things are like that.

Other things must prove themselves special

at every turn,

and against all odds.

Let me try to sell you on the exceptionality of two particular slices of toast.

Even if they are golden-brown perfection,

Even if they are crisp, but not desiccated,

Even if they are still warm enough to melt butter.

It is still just toast.

And, I wonder how much of mastering life comes down to the ability to

find a scream ordinary

&

taste olympian toast.

4 thoughts on “POEM: Screams & Toast

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