Please Don’t Put Nuts in the Banana Bread

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There was a poem in my head
that dragged me from bed
and asked a few little things of me.
“Leave off the lights”
and
“Hold on to last night”
and
“Put me down here while you start the tea.”

So it sprawled on the table
while I lived in a fable
where my morning was mine at last.
But before the hot water,
came
“Good morning, Father!”
and
the kids ate my poem for breakfast.

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