Looking into the cauldron of
the morning.
What will come forth?
Should I heed the rip-tide warning?
I’m not sure, but I think I see
an arm.
Hey, that’s my mouth!
reflected in the cauldron of the morning.
As usual, I’m feeling lucky.
What’s it worth
to me? I’ll forget the rip-tide warning
and remember my colleague Mary Ellen,
whose boyfriend helped her hold up stores.
(James Joyce and Chester A. Anderson this morning.)
Mary Ellen’s grad school career
died aborning.
Ice is breaking to the north.
If a cauldron were an ocean, would I heed the warning?
The cauldron always throws up
something
while I try to stay in control of my own gorge,
looking into the cauldron of the morning,
ignoring the rip-tide warning.
