The playful language of Kara Kitchen's ending should remind us of the play with which Frost would engage his readers-- never pun for pun's sake, but always for "mortal stakes."                            

CREAM DRESSING

I slip quietly onto the
rain drenched deck, coffee in
hand, eavesdrop on the
waking harbor celebrating
lights return.
Sway to the symphony of
five a.m. starlings lined up on a wire.
Plump spring sopranos serenading a
shiny choir of crows as they
croak out the rhythm.
Their chorus backs up
bright headed eagles on the
beach, croon in time as
black baritone ravens
crescendo in flight.
Drowsy fishermen emerge from
wheelhouses and busy themselves with
gear work, muttering,
morning is for the birds,
immune to the glorious
surround sound sonata.
I close my eyes.
Yes, I quite agree,
morning is
for the birds.

 Kara Kitchen has been published in a collection from Wichita State University called Mikrokosmos, twice in a collection called ICE-FLOE International Poetry of the North, and in an Alaska quarterly magazine called VENT.