your day will come, promise

i stare

at the lump of brie

in the fridge,

a whiteish 

wedge,

and whisper to it

that maybe

next weekend

i'll have a party and take

it out

on a little plate,

pull out a box of cracked

wheat crackers

and a little

round knife to spread

it about.

maybe that fig spread

in the squat

jar will join in too,

if i can get it open.

hold on i tell it.

your day will come,

promise.