BREAKFAST

This morning she said

after nineteen years

we are still eating kasha.         

I remembered -

it was our first breakfast,

she was so proud,

her ethnic food.

I seeing only darkened grits

dashed pepper sauce on top.

I had spoiled it!

The cry echoes

nineteen years later.

self  analysis

depresses

like lifting

a corner

of the rug

where you

have swept

examining

the debris

then dropping

the rug

GOING

there are no roads where we are going

are no roads where we are going

no roads where we are going

roads where we are going

where we are going

we are going

are going

going

MOVING

Our lives diminish

Packed in boxes

Sealed for shipping

Less every day

Until “POOF”

The magician’s trick.  

We disappear

Not here not there.

Then we are elsewhere

Rethreading our lives

Building on resources

Changed by movement.

Biographical Note: Joe Quinton is a recent resident of Chester County, Pennsylvania after lives spent in Providence, Boston, West Palm Beach and Kingsville, Texas.  He came to poetry after retiring and seeking some form of expression.  He finds it serves as a journal of life today and a memento of what was once.  Both themes appear and reappear in his poetry. Joe is a regular contributor to Creek Road Gang. See the Author Index for Poetry to find more of his work.