Breakfast, 1921, Fernand Leger

thanks to tess kincaid at the mag for a very strange prompt. Here is my food driven breakfast inspired poem: 

You don't kid me,

Those are not eggs

I can see right through

Those wide jelly legs

And don't think I think

Your hair is jet black

served over easy

without much intact

Yes the setting is poor

for much atmosphere

Still I can still break the bread

But no, not the fear

When you pour me a  coffee

served up strange and straight

I know you expect me

To reciprocate

And so I will:

See, I've brought you some scones

In case you forget

You're not really alone

love
kj