Sing Of Oatmeal

Sing then
of oatmeal, of
agave nectar and
cinnamon and milk
poured on; sing of
coffee warmed up
and re-warmed to make it
palatable and the satisfying
nature of completion
of the breakfast meal —
and now what? A shower
and a drive south, then north
again, pained eyes and dark
glasses;

sing of coming home
and sitting still, very still
for an hour, maybe two
or three, until night
and sleep and then the surprise:

waking up ready to scream
because you get to, are privileged
to, have to do it all again —
this is the path to happiness
or unhappiness, depending;

this is the way and in spite of
untold uncounted ways,
this must be your way.

It’s enough
to keep you clung together
for now like oatmeal
in a bowl waiting
for its partner.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
onward,
T