Another Day

Another day slips away

into the stream 

from now to then.

On and on
the seconds flow

with little notice 
and much that’s noticed
only barely so

and even less 
remembered
and what’s
remembered

hardly fills 
a spoon and 

much of that 
regretted or

reframed 
and some

relived 
second by second. 

And so 
another day 

just slips 
away. 

The Sink

Their eyes look blank

as buttons.
They've given up.

Except one
whose eye seems

hooked on me.

Dad carves a knife,

pours oil in the pan.

Poor little beings

pumping hard 

to catch a breath.

I'm pushed aside.

I hear a whack.

Flesh deep frying
but poor little Button

is pounding harder

against the sink.

Eat! dad orders.

But I just can't,
not with Buttons
pounding ever harder

against the sink.