Yard Sale of Thoughts

Scrambled egg surf
with a side of bubbling tea,
watch the waves flapjack
at my breakfast by the sea. 

And I alone, with fork and knife, 
the perfect company,
slice the doughy sky, 
smother it with liquid sunshine:
the morning's apogee.

For there is no finer way to dine,
then feet beneath sand,
and tablecloth of wind,
page through sunglass shade,
a stranger's wave,
the slow, unassuming service 
of breakfast by the sea.

©K.F.Hartless2025

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