Brush, Flip, Pour

The stove clock says 5:01. The sun is on the wall over the sink, and next door a man is lighting mesquite for supper.

You brush your teeth at the sink. In the black glass of the microwave door there is a face with a toothbrush in it. You crack an egg into the pan and, when the edges lift, flip it by pitching the pan. It comes down whole. The coffee maker came on at 4:30 by itself. You pour the coffee into the cup with the chip in the rim and turn the chip away from your mouth. You don't remember chipping it. You know which way to turn it.

A train schedule is stuck to the refrigerator with a magnet from a tire shop, 5:07 circled in pencil. The refrigerator comes on, and goes off.

Morning, the man next door says over the fence, with tongs.

Morning, you say.