Hot breakfast

 Half forgotten’s only half remembered;

something niggled out beyond awareness

today as we were busy cooking breakfast

and though I stood there frying, looking steadfast,

a monster kept on swimming under Loch Ness;

- so scary I can hardly dare remember.

It’s getting darker early mid-November;

best to watch I do not get too careless,

slip the anger out in all its vastness!

Better hold it in by staying stuck fast.

(Despite the smiling looks, I couldn’t care less)

and I will sure ensure that I remember

to get you back, you bastard, this December,

even though it’s adding to my hair loss

to plot a future payback for this breakfast.

It’s over – you and I will quickly get lost

in swamps and rivers, take another compass

reading out, away, from this old breakfast.

As memory assembles – we’ll remember.