This morning while eating Kelloggs
at the kitchen table I saw a face
in the back of the spoon.
I checked my reflection in the oven
door. It wasn’t me.
I panicked. Phoned my mother, asked
her to describe me, paint me
a thumbnail sketch. She said, ‘I
think you have the wrong number’
and hung up.
If you have any comments on this poem, Marilyn Francis would be