Thursday, February 18, 2010

tough cookies

The week long silence is broken
As he offers her this token
From his throne upon the couch
This mopey, grumpy, grouch

“The cookies you’ve been buying me are stale", he grumbles
As the cookie crumbles
From beneath furrowed brow
He wonders
What will she do now?

The cookie
A bird of peace
The dove
A token of her love

Moment of unease

Cool, calm, collected, as if unaffected.
She says steely eyed
“Don’t mope about, just throw them out”

Buy him more?
What is she, some kind of pimp or cookie whore?

A fresh gesture of love she’ll make?
Cookies from scratch she’ll bake…

For him?


“Buy them yourself.
Go to the store.”
(poem and photo - copyright N. Thacker 2010)

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