My oatmeal bowl is empty.
I shudder with hunger
And double over until my mouth makes the first sound of my favorite breakfast food.
My oatmeal bowl is empty.
I scrape my fingernails
Along the inside of the dish until the dried flakes break away from their clingy stance.
My oatmeal bowl is empty.
I try to think of life
But the warm deliciousness of cereal steals all my psychological chunks in a heist.
My oatmeal bowl is empty.
I can’t escape this longing
For gooey goodness dripping stickily down my throat and finally satisfying my needs.
My oatmeal bowl is empty.
I have no more instant packets
So I leave missing my last quenching breakfast and resolve to never replace its bliss.
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1 comment:
Hmmm, what does this poem say to me? Get to the store and buy yourself some more breakfast food!!! You are at that wonderful age where every situation calls for poetry! flutiemim.blogspot.com
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