You want breakfast?
The bread is
three days stale;
the toaster
singes the edges.
The jam from
the farmer’s stand
is runny and bland.
At least the coffee
is never too strong
for us.
It’s barely anything
– I didn’t even make eggs.
We’ll crunch and sip
in silence,
except to grouse about
another batch of rain,
until you get up
to put in a load of whites
while I put up
last night’s dishes.
Isn’t this also what we live for?
These dull tones
to paint a beautiful life?
2 thoughts on "You want breakfast?"
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Yes, it’s the ordinary that make the extraordinary so memorable!
I had no idea where this poem was going, but you took me to a beautiful end. I echo Linda’s observation. Nicely done!