I am
the morning crowd
downtown
at the brek-café
‘cino steaming
a hiss
a gurgle
somewhere behind me
strange
I
alone
at brek-café
you are on the road
I
still here
behind you
you
eating miles
to my
piece of toast
and sunny-side
fried eggs
I’ll see you
tonight
I’ll see you
in the morning
fried eggs
long miles
toast for breakfast
alone
in brek-café
© Frank Prem, 2017
September 2017 Poem #7: scaling
