The eagle pauses in mid-gulp,
and Prometheus can take a breath.
The sky is still blue: he can watch
a cloud, remember conversation,
think of a fireplace.
Some meals, though, are like childhood,
going on long after knife,
and fork, are exhausted. We
beg repeatedly for a curtain,
a toychest, a kiss goodnight,
a coffee break.
© 2001 Jody Azzouni