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on dunbar.
he is always slipping statistics over breakfast,
pours over the globe & mail with a familiarity
most have for a glove, each finger in place, sectioned off.
i am unable to lose myself within a page, sometimes reading
the same line fifteen times over, instead, focusing
on the winter-pale crook of his bent arm, rested.
in the background, the print-dulled pan crackles and spits
with fat and eggs. drops of oil pearl the walls, condense
on semi-gloss; he fits into the kitchen, each muscle displacing
the exact amount of air needed for his body to fit. there is
comfort in details, the shadows of living that lay
just beyond absorption, yet are there regardless
of the religion of small things, the humid bowl
of his lower back post-shower, and the hot grease-
stain of eggs sliding from pan to plate to mouth.
the
details of breakfast
by dani couture
from: midnight
grocery,
©2004
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