eaten too much in my dreams
(marble rye, oven-blistered pizza,
cinnamon toast). I don’t want to hear
milk. I don’t like the sound of people
sitting at a dining table not speaking.
I don’t like the pressure of competing
before I’ve applied red lipstick.
I don’t want to be asked why I add
zucchini or to cringe when the blender
whirs. I want to feel empty. I avoid
washing dishes. I can’t wait for coffee.
Scrambled eggs at times inspire regret.
Oatmeal, on the other hand, doesn’t
have a scent. It’s true I want everything
bagels, but the secret’s in the water.
I don’t have time. I will be late.
I crave bananas later in the day.
Pancakes for dinner are a novelty
and so are pancakes in bed. Syrup
is too sticky. I can’t open a cereal box
without finishing it. I’m not seeking
a prize inside. I don’t believe in breakfast
of champions. Winners don’t get a break.
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