A toasted english muffin
with whipped creamy butter
and a steaming mug
of mountain grown coffee

It all sounds so good on the menu
fresh ranch eggs
conjuring up pictures of
mother, father and I on an outing
driving through a summer countryside
in an open tin lizzy
mother holding her floppy hat in the wind
laughing...banjo music playing
and chickens everywhere! scattering
scurrying back to the barn
full of sunshine cracks and aromatic shadows
where clucking hens nest in secret places
laying eggs for children to find
put into baskets and bring us for breakfast
yes, I`ll have some of that this morning.

Pretending I`ve not
been to the concentration camp
and seen the eyes staring through the wire
and seen the miles and miles
of shopping basket cells
with barely room enough to move or sleep
forgetting how they helplessly stand for days
eating off tin trays
drinking from galvanized tanks
watching their lifes work roll away like teeth

Taken out of the circle of things
crispy bacon strips
and country cured ham
have nothing to do with the slaughter.

We eat words

And no one says grace
And no one says thank you