This morning at the breakfast table
I watched a woman watch impatiently
The toaster.
She peered into the plated apertures
Where she had placed two slices
Of favourite bread.
She stood on one foot, then the other;
She rubbed her hands and frowned
And looked again.
And finally it popped and lo! Behold!
There was the gift of golden brown repast …
(which would have popped regardless of
Her watch.
And I imagined bringing up one’s children
With minimum supervision,
Until they pop.)
3 June 2013
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