Every morning I miss the chance,
to eat cereal.
The cold milk in the fridge,
beckons me every afternoon.
The uneaten cereal,
still in the box on the shelf.
The cereal waits for me,
and I will wait for cereal.
For cereal and I,
we have a bond.
A bond of crunchy perfection,
mixed with soggy displeasure.
But it's all okay with me,
cereal can wait.
But I don't think I can,
maybe tomorrow.