Breakfast

Incense set my living room on fire

But I was busy looking into the coffee,

Remembering that one day

When my heart broke over pancakes.

.

It wasn't the din of the dishes clattering

In the kitchen behind our booth

Or the strange, wafting smell of the amalgamation

Of all the other breakfasts bothering me.

.

I was agitated by the scrape of a too-nice shirt

On skin used to broken-in, second-hand clothes.

The strawberries were drenched in red syrup.

And you were sitting there, flirting with the waitress.

.

Because my talk had bored you.

My ten seconds of fame were ten too many.

It was a silly little command too.

Tell me more about it.

.

Doesn't that mean that I can speak?

Isn't that the green light go of conversation?

I told the moon about you the night before.

And there I was, telling a stupid story.

.

Should have known.

From the dusty, untouched bookshelf

To the bad bourbon and the messy floors.

I was a practice run.

.

Maybe for the waitress or her sister or friend

Or some absolute stranger in my universe

With the same brown hair and dull grey-blue eyes

That made me such a perfect test.

.

Silver Serpent Books

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