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Steve Page Oct 5
on saturday morning we grace around recycled rustic tables, lowering our heads over gluten free brown toast topped with gently scrambled free range eggs, adding soya milk to decaffeinated, ethically sourced coffee, self contained in guilt free reusable cups -

and still we fret.
Saturday scene in West London
Jack L Martin Sep 2018
Cake
You can eat it too!
My frying pan
Is half empty

Hate me
Because I am good
No!
Because I am great!

Michelan Stars
Trips to Mars
Candy bars
Mason jars

Drunk I am
Said the can
To the packet
Of ketchup

Baker's square
I worked there
Line cook nook
Splatters shook!

The kitchen man
Burns the water
The ******* fan
Yearns for slaughter
Hae Sun Aug 2018
I could’ve woken you up in the morning and could’ve been the sun that rises even when we both live in a place where it never does.
I could’ve taken you to museums, at least 2 of where I’ve been to. The first one, we’ll have to take the bus because I’d tell you that I’m too lazy to drive but for the second one, I will tell you that I’ll drive you there.
My car would look at me as though it knows that there is another soul seating in the passenger seat – it was no longer some books, a box of pizza, or my dog.
I could’ve taken photos of you in that place, post them everywhere but subtly so that they can see that there are at least 2 forms of art in that photo — the one you’re looking at and the one I’m looking at.
I could’ve talked to you at night under the stars, in the same rooftop where I told you that I liked the cathartic experience of doing just what we could’ve done; the same rooftop where you talked about your life, at least some pieces of it.
I could’ve brought you to where I used to study. We could’ve walked the halls that stared at me for being too alone and too lonely only so I could tell them, “Hey, here he is, finally.” and they could’ve smiled at me because they know how long the longing lasted.
We could’ve taken a stroll in the shade of the trees or could’ve had a picnic there while watching the joggers and the sunset.
I could’ve introduced you to my friends – they’ve been meaning to meet you. They too know how long I’ve been stuck on an island by myself. They know who I was when I was eleven and when I was sixteen and I bet, if you gave them a chance, you could’ve heard the crazy things we did.
And maybe they could’ve liked you. They could’ve told me how lucky I was and probably would’ve warned me that if I hurt you, they’d stick with you instead of me.
I could’ve introduced you to my family — my mom liked you even then. I could’ve introduced you to my little brother who I would consider as the biggest and most important judge of character because I believe that children can sense goodness in people and he could’ve seen that in you.
I could’ve written you letters, could’ve left random little tokens I would've used for all the words I cannot muster to say.
I could’ve played the piano for you even if I just know, at most, 3 songs; even though I don’t really know how to read notes at all.
I could’ve introduced you to the artists I like and I could’ve known more of yours. I could’ve listened to them and I would have had to remember you every time.
I could’ve held your hand, could’ve eaten brunch with you, could’ve read you a poem.
I could’ve loved you — could have – if I was the given the chance.
But, I was and I could’ve used it but I didn’t.
my idea of an “us”
mismatched wood
tape on ceiling
sauces on table
genuine laughter
dessert board with pie
silverware noises
talk about oil
khaki pants
pouring drinks in the morning
appreciate your environment
s Sep 2016
Live counter spaghetti
red sauce
broccoli and zucchini-
A late sunday brunch
‘Smells like rich people’
says the one who woke up
in last night’s clothes,
haggard and uncombed.
‘Looks like we got a homeless to feed’
I joke.
Leaning in
on other conversations-
An angry mother-
chatty and full throttle-
out for a meal with kids,
complete with a qua bottle.

The untold stories of families
who eat brunch at the grocery.


Only farm fresh or
organic bred
Green coffee and chocolate
darker than your skin tone
Yoga bars,
cinnamon croutons
and **** kale chips
disguised in gold foils
or that subtle matte finish;
Teas from unknown lands
packed in embossed tins
sitting unassumingly in other aisles
waiting to be picked.
Stocked in glass jars-
granola and muesli-
meant for wooden mantles
nine hundred and eighty rupees only.
Try the organic honey
‘from the wild forests of the Narmada’
she claims.
Cookies and cream through
a straw dipped in milk
a tad too sweet,
I prefer the crisps & pesto dip.
Herbs in pots
and fresh cut kiwis,
culinary knives
for every fruit you’ve never seen.
Chefs in glass cubicles
groping dough in a bath of butter
just like those Tasty commercials;
We stare a while longer.
This place feeds on fantasies,
let’s recalibrate reality at Hamleys
over Jenga towers and
flying pigs that run on batteries.
Arturo Hernandez Feb 2016
Saturday Morning -
It's a little cloudy,
It's a little windy.

Text: We're going to get brunch
So get ready.
Thoughts: I'm hungry! It's getting late
and we have to go to a birthday party.
Baby. hurry!

Menu: I can't have anything heavy,
Me and my girlfriend were out yesterday.
To the lady: Strawberry crepes for me, please,
I'll also have a caramel macchiato, and...
Can you add a Perrier? Thanks.

Across the table: What is this moment?
It's not butterflies, there's no knots in my stomach.
I think it's love...it's definitely happiness...
This is straight out of a movie...

No, nothing speacial happened.
It was just a cloudy Saturday morning
But there was enough Sun to hit our window,
And I just couldn't believe
I was living that moment.
Ysabel Yaneza Dec 2015
I sat at a bar to eat some chicken and waffles
I drank my coffee
As much as I wanted to
I added to my story
Of how elated I was of my solitude

Don't steal my money
A lady stands close to me
She opens up an umbrella
And the tears now only came from the sky

You are gr8
But nope...
Meg B Apr 2014
Plush beads of summer rain gently kiss the windows,
pitter pattering steadily in contrast
to the low hums and stutters
of the red coffee ***
that saves many souls
lost in a daze of former slumber;
a lengthy stretch,
she leans back against the cream,
or maybe more ivory,
sofa couch,
wiggling it up and down her frame
and in its last push
released with a crack through the tips of her toes.

scrumptious smells of eggs and breakfast meats,
brunch is always her
favorite hour,
balancing the crisp texture of toast
against the delightful spritz
of OJ,
sometimes blended with a splash of something
sparkling.

the chords and rhythms that thrummed and purred,
the puttering, the humming, the stuttering,
a baritone chuckle
escaping his smirking mouth,
the moment so inescapably
charming,
how satisfying their ritual felt.

— The End —