Half Loaf

by Gary Percesepe

“The guests arrived at the summer house.”—Pushkin


This snowy morning I'm soothing myself

with bacon, which I haven't tried in years.


Hot chocolate, china. Why not. And this wee bread I

found at Kroger packaged in half a loaf for divorced men.


No woman to remove my bandana, or point her fork at me.

No one to ask, after a fall on black ice at work bounced


my head off the pavement:  Baby, do I need a

Cat Scan? Ha! she'd say, picking at her pale lipstick


You def need a brain scan. No seriously, I'd say,

do you think I should go to the emergency room?


And she'd reach over in bed, take my hand, and say

firmly, I'm your emergency, baby. I'm it. Right here.