The blank cupboard door splattered in old dinner sauces
Bends open and reveals the random platters, travel mugs, and assorted cereal boxes.
Cheerios = oats, flour, sugar, and a variety of intangible ingredients.
The stench of urine emits from the box.
Why does it smell this way?
The o’s jingle into the ceramic curves of the festive blue bowl.
The wholesome milk splashes down in a whimsical wet noise
Painting the cereal white.
A well-crafted pop tune to my ears.
I’m lead by a green meadow.
I’m sat beside a peaceful stream.
The milk displaces the empty space between the little rings.
Five years ago,
I dreamt of a world made of light.
A tree stood in the midst of this radiance.
There I sat sheltered from the blinding white rays with a young woman.
She turned her shoulders towards me and said, “I’m not interested in you.”
She had uttered the same phrase a few days earlier
To make clear to me her feelings as we departed one night in January
After a cup of chamomile and a chat in a cafe.
“I’m not interested in you.”
I understood and said good night.
A few weeks later she was calling to see if I wanted to hang out.
We went to a grocery store to purchase fresh vegetables for a salad.
After enjoying our meal, she switched on the keyboard that was balancing upon the bookshelf.
I picked up my guitar and we sang and played “Across the Universe.”
Five years later,
She joins me at the breakfast table with our son in her arms and another child inside of her.
Instead of staying up all hours reading poetry and painting,
We go to bed early after watching a movie.
Our days are filled with work, childcare and chores.
These are the bricks, but the mortar is our conversations
Whether we are discussing plans for the future or what to have for dinner.
To see and hear one another is good
And what a pleasurable grace it is to enjoy breakfast with my wife.
The old brown mug is still in perfect condition
And I pour out the fresh hot brew from the french press.
Though the beans are from the wholesale club,
They still smell delicious when ground and steeped.
The aromas of earth, smoke, and fruit hit me.
My cup overflows.
The black coffee is strong and stimulating against my lips.
Now time to change my son’s diaper.
Andrew Borne is 2 Cups Poet 1 teaspoon Musician 1/4 teaspoon Salt 1/2 cup Absurdity 3/4 cup Chef 1 egg, beaten 2 1/3 cups Family Man. Mixed together and served raw. His column 7x appears weekly in Oddball Magazine.
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