i'm getting so tired of
breakfast.

it comes with eggs and a veg,
bread,
some kind of meat,
jams or jellies,
coffee or tea,
and a cigarette.

(if you got'em smoke'm)

there's an order to it:
the order in which it's sold,
cooked,
spread,
served,
smoked,
and the lingering scent
is enough
to entice Lunch to dinner.

i'm tired.
it takes up my morning,
burns out my bulb
before the sun rises,
and i don't have the drive to love myself.
i don't have the gumption to water
the money tree in my flaking window sill.

and that's ok.

no one needs breakfast,
or a money tree,
when there is no fast to break from.
i eat day in and day out,
we all do,
food is so easy now.
what we need is a breakfeed
from the Fat Tuesday
that is every day of the week.

you wouldn't give up
on your fill though
when the hole in your gut
is so deep
that it would take a tightrope
for your hands to reach your feet,
bound tight and trussed
like a turkey
for turkey day,
and a week
of cannibalistic frivolity
at the cost of your dignity.