Poetry Friday, but of course Brautigan

Kafka's Hat

With the rain falling
surgically against the roof,
I ate of dish of ice cream
that looked like Kafka's hat.

It was a dish of ice cream
tasting like an operating table
with the patient staring
up at the ceiling.


For my student who suggested that what we were each experiencing in separate ways this week was the same uncanny feeling that we were living in a Kafka story.