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Three Line Lunch: A Good Sunday Morning

a yearlong diary in three-line poems by Jeff Rogers, day 39

A Good Sunday Morning

I love to arise in the still partly dark. Faithful old Red slips off bed, hobbles to kitchen.
I grind beans, brew black, french-pressed; cut strawberries over oats, which Red
Finishes. Reclined in leather, Red curled nearby, I finish Ender’s Game.