This poem was a stale, day-old
by the time I picked it up again.
The crumbs that fell
were the best parts.
The rest was indigestible,
so I spit out
what had been in my mouth.
I pushed my fingers down
on the sharp, rocky shards
and licked them off, sweet,
while writing this one.
Then, I went out for a walk,
hoping for a fresh one
at the coffee shop,
but I’d gone out too late in the day
and all they had left for me
were more stale, day-old discounts.
I ordered an eight once cup and waited around
until more like me had come
and taken away the new stale day-olds.
Then, I asked for the plate of crumbs
and finished writing this one;
Tapping my fingers down
before bringing the sweetness
back to my tongue.

written on 03/06/2011 by: Matt Kane