a breakfast poem — I made you breakfast scones,
lemony with bits of blueberries,
no sweet icing to steal the show,
just crumbly dough
that asks to be warmed
and slathered with butter,
served beside a mug of coffee
or Earl Grey tea,
eaten as the sun inches up the sky
while on the porch or in the garden
if it’s spring or summer,
or…
