I allow myself 
the luxury of breakfast 
(I am no nun, for Christ’s sake). 
Charmed as I am 
by the sputter of bacon, 
and the eye-opening properties 
of eggs, 
it’s the coffee 
that’s really sacramental. 
In the old days, 
I spread fires and floods and pestilence
on my toast. 
Nowadays, I’m more selective, 
I only read my horoscope 
by the quiet glow of the marmalade.