My old man pose

I ate last night’s dinner

for breakfast, wild mushrooms

in bone broth. I sat by myself

in the nook chewing,

contemplating the day.

It passed without report.

In the middle of the night

the moon made the fog

look like a stony broth,

like we were all just

floating in the soup

with our legs dangling,

no floor.

I got back into bed,

let out a hearty yawn

and thought, I must look

like my old man now:

“old age.”



Categories: identity, poetry

Tags: , , , , ,

9 replies

  1. Cool! Great imagery, it reads like an old Russian folktale.

    Liked by 1 person

  2. Wild mushrooms, bone broth, red red wine

    Liked by 1 person

  3. bone broth and fungi. like what we turn into over time.

    Liked by 1 person

  4. Loved this one and have enjoyed reading through some of your work today. Happy to have come across your space!

    Liked by 1 person

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