pork chop

she tells me
that i can't have
a pork chop
for breakfast.
and why not i
say. why the hell
not? i dice
up some onions
and mushrooms
and throw them
into a black pan
with a puddle of
italian olive oil,
i introduce some
finely minced
hot pepper into
the mix then
lay down a pink
slab of bone in
chop onto the sizzle.
she stands with
her hands on her
hips, it's not
breakfast food
she says. she
lights another
cigarette, taking
a toothpick out
of her mouth
and scratches
the tattoo of God
on her arm.
make us some
eggs, sweetie pie,
she says. bacon
too. hashbrowns?
no. i tell her
waving my silver
spatula in her
direction. we're
having pork chops.
now if you don't
mind, i'm cooking
here. go smoke
that coffin nail
in the other room.