Breakfast

A breakfast,
of cat head sized pancakes,
buckwheat.
Always smear a little extra butter on the bottom of the skillet,
damn!

Might be a little hit and miss this time around as the old women got together and put the mojo on me.

Hell, it might taste a bit salty
but it sure beats jail kitchen fried eggs.

The shakin’ in my hands,
well that’s the old women’s doing.
Causes me to dribble coffee down my shirt,
like I’ve got a hole in my lip.
Hardly a drop makes it to my throat.

When the old women put the mojo on you,
well you aren’t going to be bringing home any pole dancer
with that wrung out look in your eyes.

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