Home Fries Translated

A photo of a glass microscope slide

in a highschool textbook depicted

the spectrum of red to violet in a geometry

violent and ever opening as to be a thing

defiant of the still and personage definite better

than any string of words describing the sense of

chemical and lattice and science and on a saucer

beside supporting and necessary groups and chains of

particulate component breakfast you are cubed calm

until the silver fork breaks oil crisped skin and teeth

catalyze the crystals within and quanta divide

fission creates ever expanding planes of taste and

the slide shatters through the page of cookbook

in a little big bang of color scents mapped to buds.

"Holy fuck, these are good."

Two Women on Penn Avenue

Two women have had a fender bender
to start their days.
One drives her dinged rear across opposing traffic lanes
to beach half of her sedan on the safety of a sidewalk,
the other stops on a dime's width
from the sight of the two mile per hour collision
to park in the right of two lanes and swing her door
full into the left of two lanes.
Both have cellphones at ears
flying teary streamers
watching traffic back and back and back
like a kitchen sink, fingers sweating in the pages of
never used and grease coated phonebooks from fridge tops.

The mail carrier shakes his head
passing you for a second time on his way back to his truck.

The potential is real.
You will not make it to work before lunch.