A Poem by Pat Whitney

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.