Breakfast of Champions
Galway Kinnell ate oatmeal for breakfast
made on a hot plate with skimmed milk.
With nothing to savor about the
glutinous texture and gluey lumpishness,
of his morning repast—his words—
he invites Keats to join him. But even
an exchange about Autumn or nightingales
doesn’t erase the hint of oozing slime.
Paying a little more attention to the oatmeal,
I think I’d use Irish, steel-cut oats with a
liberal addition of rum-soaked raisins before
I invited Hemingway to my morning table.
And just imagine what porridge with maple
syrup and local cream might elicit from
Robert Frost about the secret lives of
stone walls, yellow woods and even birches.
Pat Whitney is a former advertising copywriter and retired nonprofit development officer. She lives in Sunapee NH where she volunteers, creates little dinners for her friends and family beside a beautiful lake and explores her voice in poetry.
One thought on “A Poem by Pat Whitney”
My favorite, steel cut oats with local maple syrup and cream. Beautiful. I could feel the crispness in the morning and steam off the bowl. The thoughtful conversations. Thank you.