14 years after its projected expiry date
the airfield mess was still in use
still the same size
still with the same number of seats
but now feeding 200 not 100.
Space was tight in the kitchen
every spare centimetre gold
every space increasing innovation utilized
the bread slicer moved to the serving room
sliced loaves put next to butter and condiments.
One morning at breakfast
a man is dropping pieces of bread into blade spaces
they fall through
“hey man,” he bellows
“your toaster’s all fucked up.”
For the back story click Backstage
Orphaned Islands (Un)poetry 