The ritual is always the same.

 

Head down, bleary-eyed shuffle

To the cabinet in the kitchen.

Nutella, crackers, a half-eaten box

Of Oreo cookies that are getting stale.

The line of cereals tucked away in the back.

 

Oats, sugar, anything with honey on it.

Colorful boxes. Ridiculous slogans.

There’s always one a bit more eaten than the others,

The one kind the kids actually like.

The other ones are just for show.

 

A sugary cereal with a flashy green box and a

Happy, smiling cartoon character.

Has he ever actually tried the cereal?

No. And he never will.

It’s reached the two-day mark. By the tomorrow

It will start to go stale. Better eat while it’s good.

 

Shake test. A decent amount.

Smell test. Still edible.

Taste test. Retains its crispy exterior.

 

A bowl. One percent milk because the two percent is gone.

Don’t know the difference. Probably isn’t one.

 

Crunching. The same taste as always.

That strange taste the milk leaves in the mouth as it

Starts to soak up the sugar. Green milk. Then grey.

Picking through the bowl trying to find the marshmallows.  

Those are the only good ones. Don’t know why the other

Stuff is there. Maybe to make it less unhealthy.

 

Four minutes of just listening to yourself chew.

Too early for thoughts. Too late for dreams.

Studying and re-studying the box.

 

There’s a prize in the box. A new color-changing spoon.

Probably picked out and shoved in a drawer with

The extra measuring cups and rubber bands.

Looks like the spoon goes from green to blue.

Simple science.

 

But is it actually blue or green? Or is it equal parts

Both at the same time?

From the moment it begins to turn blue has it always been blue,

Or was it blue all along?

 

Are you blue or green? Or both?

 

Soggy pieces float in discolored milk.

Inedible now.

 

There’s the careful walk to the sink, making sure not

To slosh the milk onto the floor.

The debate of whether or not to dump the milk.

It’s a waste. But you do it every day.

Is the world really going to miss the grey milk?

Slurped up by the drain.

 

Still hungry. Could’ve gotten more cereal.

But the milk is gone. No use in making more grey milk.

 

The counter is the new hunting grounds.

A bowl of bananas sitting dangerously close

To the bread rack.

Wheat bread untouched. Potato rolls almost gone.

An old looking raspberry scone from a brunch.

 

Muffins. Round-topped with little speckles.

Probably chocolate chip.

Wrapping comes off easily. They’re still fresh.

 

Not chocolate chip. Blueberry.

Should’ve known better. They’re never chocolate chip.

It’s like cookies. There’s always the small hope that

Maybe the oatmeal cookies have scrumptious lumps

Of bitter-sweet chocolate in them. Never.

Always raisin. Why the hope then? If they’re always raisin,

They’ve always been raisin, and will continue to be raisin?

Why the slight smile? The wave of excitement as the possibility

Of them being chocolate lingers in the back of the mind?

 

Muffins are a disappointment. Only thing left is toast.

The wheat bread is fresh. But it’s wheat bread.

There’s nothing quite so depressing as wheat bread

 

In the morning when you should be having chocolate

Chip muffins.

The white bread is flimsy. Too moist from being near the bananas.

 

Two pieces in the toaster. The dial turned to not quite three but almost.

Now the wait. Two or three minutes of staring into space wondering

What you should be spending these two or three minutes doing.

The brain settles on yawning. A productive use of time.

 

A few yawns. A burning smell. Bread crumbs trapped at the

Bottom of the toaster.

 

A ding. They’re slightly burned. Because they were soggy.

Disappointing. Better than wheat bread.

Impossible to remove. The lever doesn’t actually help

To get the toast out of the slots. It just shows

How nicely toasted it is and how infuriating it

Is that the pieces are unreachable.

 

Try a knife. Try to skewer the bread.

Don’t want to touch the sides. Could get electrocuted.

Never seen it happen, but it was in an episode of

Sponge Bob one time.

 

The fork works better. Hand still gets burned trying to

Remove the disappointing toast.

Two slabs of butter. Don’t spread well.

The butter was in the fridge too long.

The toast isn’t hot enough. End up with spotty butter.

 

Uneven spread means an uneven taste.

Some more minutes of loud chewing.

Wondering what toast would taste like with wheat bread.

Not worth testing it out. Too much time has been spent

Preparing the disappointing toast.

 

Toast needs coffee. Should've spent the toasting time making

the coffee. Yawning was the better option at the time. 

Coffee in the filter. More waiting. Slight nibbles at the toast. 

The coffee is strong. Life is stronger. 

 

Several sips to wash down the burned toast. 

Caffeine won't hit for hours. Maybe days. 

A cup each day to keep the exhaustion away. 

But the exhaustion is still there. Creeping 

on the end of consciousness. It'll always be there. 

No amount of teaspoons can measure it away.

 

A glass of water. The milk wasn’t really a beverage.

Just a necessity of the cereal. Perhaps that’s the only

Reason it was invented, to compliment the cereal.

Doesn’t seem to be another use for just plain milk,

Regardless of the percent.

Coffee left a dry taste. Needs washing down. 

Maybe it's not the coffee that wards off the monster.

Maybe it's been water all along. The coffee bean guys just 

want a few more dollars for their fermented beans. 

 

Water is lukewarm. Water pressure in the tap is wrong.

Takes too long to wait for it to heat or cool all the way.

Result is lukewarm water. It’s not bad. Only strange.

 

Water is meant to be hot or cold. Hot for washing,

Cold for refreshing.

The ocean is never lukewarm. It’s always an extreme.

Nature is meant to deal in extremes. A neutral state is unnatural.

Manmade. Water shouldn’t be manmade.

 

Cup in the sink. Sink swimming with old cereal, coffee grounds, toast pieces,

Slabs of butter, and grey milk. Manmade water to wash it out.