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Friday, May 13, 2016

Indian Grove Bed & Breakfast Poems

Breakfasts Spent in Indian Grove


The sun's cheerful rays colourfully reflect the stain glass in the room,
reds, blues, purples, greens dance around the halls,
I dance around on the Victorian rug before I zoom
down the stairs for breakfast; new crystals on the walls.

Onions and scallions waft through the air
as I sit on the couch petting April the cat,
the owner now greets me with such fanfare
and I'm seated for breakfast in a dining flat.

Orange juice is quickly brought out in a tall glass
along with porcelain tea cups for coffee and milk.
"We're having omelets today," I can't pass
even though I don't eat eggs, there is yogurt like silk.

I load up on the strawberry yogurt and other fruit;
onions and peppers and mushrooms continue to waft,
until suddenly I'm presented with an omelet in a cheese suit,
thanking him, I place the egg in my mouth and laughed

to myself of the face I must be making,
not to be rude, I scarf it down quickly
and eat most of the vegetables, so glad there's no bacon!
Despite this one dish, the rest are good and not sickly.


"Good morning!" I hear friendly voices behind me,
a friendly looking couple walk in for their meal;
and warm chatter begins as they pour the tea—
although I'm done breakfast, I stay and feel

their welcoming presence; now the owners join
and the table erupts into where I'm traveling from,
what I think of Toronto and my trouble with coins?
"loonies and toonies confusion at first - you're not dumb!"

We laugh and then serious business discussed—
American versus Canadian cultures - Vietnam history,
the dark time when Americans came here in buses;
such a shame both don't do enough for veteran poverty.

What was supposed to be a quick meal was an hour,
but meeting new people and talking history was fun,
their suggestions of where to go made me empowered;
we separate to begin our busy days in the Canadian sun.