hour twelve

Pancakes are round.
they smell of childhood forgotten memories
they bring with them a huge nostalgia
of children who have left the hearth,
they are
warm, yellow and crispy
the way i like them

but they make me feel lonely,
isolate,
as an adult,
they are robinson crusoe food,
marrooned on a deserted island.
Did he miss pancakes?
He could have some of mine,

Jams and then some with cheese,
and maybe some for tomorrow’s breakfast,
used to freeze some for a quick snack for the children.

Pancakes are round or ought to be
but they give nostalgia a new meaning.

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