Scrambled

When I woke
still shaken
by Jeremy's dream
drool marks on the pillow
to prove that it'd been
a real barn-burner

a bird chirped
in the otherwise silent
air conditioner
perched inside
my window.
There was
a faint sound
of scratching
like some twigs
upon some tin.

That friend had
sold me out
put me right back
into debt. Even in my
dreams my back's
a magnet for their knives.
I stood, dizzy from
last night's medicine
and told the world
what I thought of friends.

When I turned the
fan off later on
no song came from
the grill.
Thinking of this
brought on a rare hunger.

Without milk for coffee
or orange juice
to quench the salt
an ironic egg breakfast
was out of the question.

Sausage sans peppers
it was
and delicious.