Different Slants

    by Robert M. Katzman © January 18, 2013

***

6 am

Cold wet black nose

Resting on my cheek

I don’t need an alarm

Not when you sleep with Lassie

Or in my case, Betsy

***

She wants out

No discussion

I stagger up

Wrap a blanket ’round

My chilly bare skin

Find the door

Then the kitchen door

And she’s gone

***

I slip on my jeans

Open the fridge

Grab the eggs

A clear glass bowl

Break all the eggs

Toss out the shells

The three yellow eyes

Staring up at me

***

Then, knife and fork

Real butter

Shredded Cheddar

A wide flat

Cast iron pan

Fill the stained black teapot

Cold water from the tap

Fire it up on high

***

Fill my liter bottle

Three scoops of rich coffee

The deep aroma

My morning gift to me

Add enough sugar to make me happy

I know how much time I’ve got

To rustle up the eggs

***

I drop a chunk of butter in the pan

Another fire

I wait

It sizzles

Holding up the pan

I waltz the lump of butter

Around the pan’s dry surface

***

Then draw two lines

Up and down

Left to right

An Irish Cross

So pretty, my bubbling darlin’

***

Then I fill in the four spaces

Ready for Cheddar

Sprinkle cheese all around

Like confetti

Sizzling

Melting

Begins to burn

***

I pour in the eggs

All around the pan

Atop the burning cheese

Using a fork

I break the egg whites

Only the egg whites

***

Spread them over every inch of the pan

Whites thin and flat as a crepe

Sprinkle black pepper intensely

Over the unblinking yolks

Then everywhere else

Then the salt, evenly

I wait

***

It all cooks together

Edges beginning to burn

The bulging liquid

Egg yolks boiling

The fiery union of

Cheddar and Eggs

Is complete

I slide the ensemble

Neatly onto a plate

***

I hear the teapot whistle

Always the same damn tune

Then more insistent

Like a railroad crossing whistle

Screaming:

Now you listen to ME!!

***

I turn off all burners

Pour boiling water into the liter

Shake well

Then shake more

Screw on the top, tightly

***

My dog barks

A single demanding bark

I open the door

She rushes in

Impatiently dancing

Her black nails

Typewriting

Clicking, clicking, clicking

On my warm wooden floor

***

Betsy

Like her snarling ancestors

Together with mine

Within a cave

Grabs her crunchy biscuit

From my fingers

No sharp tooth ever grazing my hand

Races to her corner of our kitchen

Her brown eyes darting swiftly

For predators

To a dog

Every room is a jungle

***

She turns around

Three times

On her cushy kitchen dog bed

In her distant brain

Flattening the grass

Curling up like a

Furry apostrophe

A warm bagel

With suspicious eyes

***

I wolf down my eggs

Pour me a tall wide

Torrent of coffee

Into a heavy clay ceramic mug

Inhale the rich brew

From hot mountains in

Madagascar

***

I relax

Betsy snores

Mammals in unison

We share another

Kitchen morning

Together

***

Part II

A Person Doesn’t Have a Dog

A person doesn’t have a dog

The dog has them

Betsy is eleven

Her soft muzzle

All white now

Has trembling trouble

So apprehensive

Trying to jump down

Off of our bed

Needs my help

Getting back up upon it

***

When she wants to do either

She looks back

Questioning me

Her wet brown eyes

Expecting my assistance

Not certain she’ll get it

Tho’ she always gets it

Human enough to

Remember who we are

To each other

Now

***

Our silent communication

Remarkably shorthand

At this point

She cuddles against me

When we sleep

Wife on the East

Dog on the West

Both with the capacity

To bite me

***

Betsy’s

Dependent on me

For a sense of

Security and concern

A wonderful connection

Sympathy and warmth

Between

Two aging mammals

Futures uncertain

Who need each other

************************

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