domestic poem
04/2011 

I
am
waiting
for 
my 
waitress

to 
take
off
her
apron

so
we
can
walk 
home
together

*

I
am
making
bacon 
and 
eggs

in 
her 
famous
black 
cast 
iron 
skillet

the 
one
that 
smells 
like 
peaches