the bacon

the bacon's being cooked
and it's real bacon. Soon to be properly
-done, laid carefully (still spitting!)
on plate,
with eggs slid on glistening
and slidey, and a crisped-up mess
of potatoes and chives. A wild-
strewn shake of salt, and that's all.
Sitting down now with plates
to a table well-laid, with coffee
and juice, and bread, and water (and Coke)
(for you), we have no sooner dug in
than finished, before the glorious smell
that filled the whole house has had
a chance to diminish. Each day,
this ritual.
Ours.
The menu may change, but the sole
truth remains: I make it all up, the breakfast,
the view (which I failed to detail - it
was beautiful, too) and especially you.
With some pains.