Mike Acker - Sunday Mourning

Real butter, melting on my multi-grain toast
with apricot jam, spread thickly.

Cold, ivory cream in my fresh, hot coffee
with a teaspoon of sugar, stirred.

Glasses sliding low on the bridge of my nose,
Sunday paper ready to go.

What more can I ask for on this, my morning,
considering she had packed up

and left me late, last night.

Mike Acker

Mike Acker

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/sunday-mourning/