Keith Leonard

In the water left from the waitress' rag,
I made James' face:

pinched salt for the scar
below the eyebrow,

a fleck of pepper for a freckle,

bent straw for the bridge of the nose.

The trouble with my over-easy eggs
was their thin skins broke

with a touch of a butter knife.

The trouble with my coffee
was it took the cream and changed.

The trouble with me is I can arrange
three words however I please: this

isn't   it

It  isn't  this.

Isn't it  this?

Isn't  this   it?