Tuesday morning. The Chopin of golden syrup
is going to perform his Breakfast Fantaisie
for teaspoon and dessertspoon. Such a treat
to see those thin arthritic fingers pose
a moment over the tranquil creamy surface.
The oats lie quiet, possibly getting cold.
But on the left a deep and mellow chord
lands in the centre of the quivering target.
Arpeggios, scribbles, signatures from the right
cover the margins. What a score! It seems
to wander clockwise now and widdershins
in the same second, trailing off to silence
with a few final isolated notes.
All we can do now is to clap, and eat.

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