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*Poem Format Will Be Skewed in Snippet*

Breakfast in Bed

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The man you've been seeing- six months in- brings you breakfast in bed.  Bacon, eggs, french toast with powder sugar strawberries and orange juice. And coffee Don't forget the coffee. You don't notice the foil on the pan,  or the tension between his brows as he eyes the bed-comforter. All you see is bounty--sugary,  starchy, bounty with a dash of protein,  topped off  with all that tart. You think this is love like you read about in children's books. The kind where even before  you wake up, there is so much   to say thank you for.  So when he proposes, five days  later, on a mountain top, what can you say?  Who would say no to a meal like that? 
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Anger

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 Anger She’s a sly dog, but no fox. Anger’s got no burrow, no furtive fleeting feet. She helps herself to treats that lay in wait for finer company then cutely covers her warm, wet nose with goofy-clawed paws, as if to say Oh dear. I just couldn’t help myself.
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Baptism

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 Baptism In these parts the power goes out with out warning often enough,  we’re no longer alarmed. The kids and I just look at each other, shrug, and shove off  to our collective imagination isles. Me? My notebook. Them? Everything else. Today though called for something sweet something to ease the hankering anticipation of something godly. Brown buttresses over green frocked Episcopalian priests Permission to say Jesus Christ and mean it. We sit beside the salted water Throw rocks against rocks, see if we have what it takes to break them. Faith and hope and Emily Dickinson   later, someone was baptized, but it wasn’t us. 
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