Coffee Morning

What a perfect morning you say

the milk’s gone bad.

I smell it because I want to know

how bad

Very you say and we are

wrinkled noses and frowns

and black coffee drinkers now

I choose a path that goes far down

that does not reek

nor connect to home

to bury

what will grow white

soft and wet

yet I reach a stump

full with ants and dry

and spill its top with our milk.

The ants sail and roll.

This is their problem now.