Just Bread

The quiet hand slid the white rectangular plate unnoticed upon the table.

Not a word or a glance warned us of the five slices of toasted bread. 

Slightly browned and dry, lying nude on the unadorned dish.

Our eyes raced to find the hidden butter, but nobody won. 

Our eyes and minds collided then we knew.

Salt on bread just wouldn’t do.

Nor pepper or water with ice. 

This was rarely seen.

Just bread.

Laurie B. Ballard

October, 2012