I paced back and forth Kitchen to living Room Bowl in hand, I seat myself. Discomfort. Discomfort leads to frustration, Frustration gives way to irritation Irritation is stopped by standing again. “It’s just breakfast,” I say to myself. I can eat anyway I want, **** it.
But as I try to plop on the leather couch once again, Some of the ever-precious cereal milk flows forth From the lip of the bowl To my pajama’d pants.