A plate overturned on the floor next to a spilled pepper grinder.
Orange juice across the table top
Soaked into yesterday’s junk mail.
The chair is off kilter from the table.
What is left of breakfast
In greasy crumbs scattered underneath the table and chair.
Cold scrambled eggs.
Soggy limp toast.
A knife encased in a bed of grape jelly and butter
Squelches underfoot.
Sadie wags her tail meekly and lowers her head in a show of submission.
I scratch behind her ears.
At least someone liked the eggs.