Dekalb Ave., 8:16 am

Morning.
Wake. Coffee. Brew. Snooze. Re-wake.
Sip. Computer. Click. Mouse. Dream cobwebs
dissipate. Sensing expands into the world.
Shower. Hottest possible water. Delicious scent
of shampoos and conditioners and soaps
cohese my little segment of world. Clothes.
Make-up. Thermos. And I walk outside
into the pre-dawn darkness
the too bright morning
the cloud slate dawning rain
the chill of fall
the heat of summer
the wisteria of spring
and I get into my car
and into my car
get into my car
every
day day day day day
and I drive down Dekalb Ave.

on autopilot
familiar street same landmarks
train tracks MARTA rail bus stop
like checking off a perpetual to do list
windows down music up
thermos in reach
singing along rocking out
same day every day always day
work day
daily grind
day day day
when through the window comes
every day
same day
right when I reach
this
stretch of Dekalb Ave.
at 8:16 am

the smell of
pancakes
hot floury buttered syrup sugar moist fluff
dissipating, then followed by
bacon
salty fat fried crisp sizzle savor

and finally
the world
comes
into
focus.

And I am always surprised at the scent,
and I always look for the pancakes, the bacon,
and I always imagine that I’m joining
everyone for breakfast, that I’m skipping
school with the gang for the Aunt’s Sarah’s breakfast,
that we’re writing poems with croissants for breakfast,
that I’ve met up with The Click in Charleston for breakfast,
that we’re having bagels by the ocean for breakfast,
that Mom is making a hashbrown casserole for breakfast,
that we’re having frittatas and burgers at 4th Street for breakfast,
that I’m making egg sandwiches for breakfast,
that you are making me mushrooms and eggs for breakfast and
laughing at some joke and pouring
more coffee.
The hot sweet fluff sizzle salty delight
always transports me,  amazes me,
makes me grateful to be alive,
and driving
down the same road
the same morning
over and over and over
and collecting the same moments
for
the same
wonderful
life.

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