Searching For A Reason I will myself to look carefully before a leap; protection from protruding blunts and jags. You say my morning coffee is too strong, and you don’t take cream. You fold the paper back to arrival condition. It looks unread. I fight the urge to pull apart section A from B; look down, and stir the milk storm in my cup. Such a pity I have discovered this one thing so early on a Sunday; this creased difference. And here was I, bringing a night to sunrise; eager to believe I had finally found Mr. Right. It’s lucky for me I was paying attention; attuned to possibilities of impending failure. Anyway, who bothers to stir black coffee? Shirley Alexander © 2009Return to: Still Surviving
