Tipton Poetry Journal – Spring 2022
Breakfast of the Recently Singled Man Michael E. Strosahl Orange juice, from the container, snacking on slices of pepperoni from the bag (toss a couple to the dog who follows every step) while the pan heats up a double pat of real butter, melting it evenly across the metal. Two eggs, no four, cracked to a sizzle, shells tossed on the counter, salt and fresh ground pepper, fried until whites bubbly, then mangled with the pancake flipper, yokes broken and bleeding, heat coagulated, a delicious mess. Because who cares what it looks like? Who is there to see it’s not pretty: sunny-side up, over-easy, even pre-scrambled to a perfect yellow rather than these orange and white uneven splotches.
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