A Quarterly Journal of Contemporary English Language Haibun
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September 2008, vol 4 no 3

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Jeffrey Winke

In Toasting Mode

My brain has a dull ache. It feels like it's filled with foam insulation—the kind shot out of an aerosol can through a straw aimed at filling gaps and wide crevices. My brain is unplugged—dumb as a toaster sitting on the shelf, cord wrapped around it with the plug stuffed in a slot to make it easy to find the next time it's in toasting mode. Part of the dull ache is from a several-hour business meeting I attended. Part of it is from the tedium of searching everywhere for more than hour for a decent cup of black, full-bodied drip coffee. The sad reality is that there are no cafés with latte-trained baristas or even a bookstore with a coffee area in this dismal part of Miami.

bunched-up line
her thin lips
count out change

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