(Response to Sunday Scribblings prompt, 'I get that sinking feeling'.)
At sink I reach to turn the tap
my routine stance
with loud harangue by cat.
As frozen meat ball slips the tray,
new sun alights the awakened bay,
in far sheet glistening
bright, bird silence listening,
and I once more the expansive vista drink
from work day posture at the sink.
The microwave be-beeps the unfrozen meat
my carnivore cries out to eat.