Waiting
A boiled egg
A cold piece of toast
Butter spread dry
An empty spot
At the table
Wanting

Coffee
No steam
Trails from the rim
The cup sits
Nearby
Black
Froth long
Gone

Stares
Out the window
The trees bare
The frost thick
On the lawn
Cut one last time before
Winter

Alone
Waiting to start
Her day
She sits
Silent
Anxious

Rising
She smiles
And calls as I start
Down the Stairs
“A cooked boiled egg!”
“A cold piece of toast!”
“My own fault, sorry!”
I say
“Dawdling today, Love.”
And
“Thanks”