He sits on a wooden bench in the park
And counts his out-lived minutes on a metaphorical watch
While he eats his lunch fresh from the trash can:
Pale green lettuce, a gritty tomato, and slick turkey
On hard toasted rye bread. The molding Swiss cheese sits at his side.
His watch ticks loudly—or rather,
The morning rhythmic beat of alcohol ticks loudly on his brain
And since no one is close enough to listen,
He offers up a toast to a tiny cratered moon
Intruding on the sun’s day.

-James Rose


About loyolapoets

The Greyhound Collective Poetry Revival would like to consider “mission statement” in its simplest terms. Rather than reiterate the boundaries of our task, we simply express our aim: to become a mission – a party of individuals sent out into the world with a message meant to unveil a uniting principle of truth. We define this message as “poetry.” We promote poetry as a viable and vivid art form, alive and accessible. Freed from its ivory tower, our poetry will breathe life into an ailing form while fostering an artful relationship with the greater community. We assert ourselves under the following mantra: “your mouth is a sign of how sacred your life actually is.” As a collective, we write to be sanctified. View all posts by loyolapoets

12 responses to “Toast

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