I'm really hungry. Since I got home from work this afternoon, I've been grading assignments for my students. Now, I've written two blog posts. Pretty soon, I will sit down and eat dinner. I don't know what it's going to be. Something warm and filling hopefully, washed down with a bottle of cold water.
That sounds like a paradise to me at the moment. Tonight, the beginning of a holiday weekend, I will stay up late and write some more or read a good book or watch a favorite movie. A reward for the work I have completed today.
Saint Marty is ready for some food.
Section 16 from "Fall" in Yellow Dog Journal
by: Judith Minty
This good French bread
from the Negaunee bakery
has lasted almost a week.
I tear off a piece, then lather it
with butter. I remember
she apologized it wasn't a long loaf.
No doubt, hearing my downstate accent,
she thought I meant to cut it with a knife.
How could she know my tongue
ached to thank her in the northland gutteral,
that I would kiss the bread before I ate.
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