The idle bowl of cereal and milk stay trapped together
Mutually assured in misery
The spoon taps impatiently at a distance
A thudding that transforms into a rigid groove
A rigid groove that tries to break up the monotony
Across the aisle has the moldy bread that waves at its first cousin
The bread withers in supposed humility and out dangles a limp helping hand
The hours fade and dissipate into less than what they were
The milk drains out
and meets the sewage,
it's rather bitter long-lost brother in some other life
Gone goes the flavor
A wasted nuance with no obituary to save face
Harkens back to the box that birthed the innocent cereal
It lies nowadays irrelevant on a cold-blooded sidewalk
Even the large black trash bags, staying close in packs has abandoned it
Some stumbling, bumbling, drunk
and disturbed twat kicks it over into the road
Reducing the box to just a brand, one of a million
Divorced from its maker
Hopefully it may be recycled at some point
Into what, the world will never know
At last, the bowl knocks over and collides with the floor
Crippled like the old man that lays helpless on the couch
Unable to call his own helping hand, a loved one, make arrangements or reach what might be his last glass of water
Hanging on in mind and body to some foolish Boomer illusion
The thudding morphs into a bold pounding
The mouth inches in feet closer
Hissing with a battered tongue
Every remaining taste bud, no different from a fallen angel God gave up on
The mouth that cheated on the concept of remorse
Denied asylum to the refugee known as enlightenment arrives at once to collect a payment
Payment long overdue sadly
