Thursday, November 28, 2013

Fresh Pot (Poem 240)

"Well, at least that's over with!"
She pulled the dish towel 
from her waistband with 
a locker-room-worthy snap.
Those of us lingering
over coffee at the table
held our breath for a moment 
until, from the next room,
the television's hum 
broke the silence. Relief
seeped into the room, with 
the fragrance of a fresh
pot of coffee. The conversation 
continued, and someone 
reached out to cut another 
slice of pecan pie.

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six