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.

I’m going to stand and eat.
Thanks, breakfast.