Wednesday, January 13, 2016


In the very last moment
before his placid and equitable death,

as he dutifully stooped, crookbacked,
and silverheaded, to set

the delicate brass trayful of small dishes
back on the table,

finally allowing
his old eyes to rest

upon the smooth and familiar shadow
now blooming,

ink black—from each of the four slowly dissolving
corners of the hall;

it suddenly struck the old butler
rather cordially

that these demure little pyramids
of exquisite fish eggs—

which his master had often
requested for a light breakfast—

would all have amounted to
not less than

a great graceless
and ponderous mess—had it not been

for those hard thin and
piddly little

crusts of
cheap bread—he slapped it on.