THE LAST FIRST MEAL.

Over the past few weeks

I’ve had to face the bleak possibility

That breakfast may be lost

To the vagaries of his ever changing tastes:

One minute the spoon was sailing smoothly

On a bowl full of milky grains,

Dipping down gracefully to take a few

And lift them swiftly to his magnetic lips,

And the next it was not;

Its velocity stopped

By a turn of attention,

Which had up to this point been spent

Learning the words of the pixel shaded

Movie playing loosely on TV.,

But was now showing an interest

In the contents of his feast..

And as simple as that

The tide turned,

The milk soured,

The cereal softened in its box,

And we were left with less options than last month,

As scrambled egg and bacon

Can only be used occasionally,

And there are only so many uses for fruit.

So it’s back to the drawing board,

Time to start over,

A moment with nowhere to go,

And unless I get inventive,

Or discover other toppings for toast,         

Then this meal will be done

And we’ll have to start

Sleeping till lunch.