How To Eat Cereal
by Rick Marlatt
People will tell you it’s best done in morning,
but like cold coffee or blotting the grease
from fried bacon, this is just wrong.
Wait until the world goes to sleep,
when the sycamore cradles a deep purple hush.
By all means, reuse the bowl from last night.
Scrape away the remnants of your day
that hang on like dried, dejected flakes.
Soak your worries in cool, quiet milk.
If you’ve planned ahead, there’s fruit in the house:
Kiwi, strawberries, peaches, cherries, bananas.
Shave them apart slowly, swirl into your galaxy.
Equal amounts of brown and white sugar.
You’re creating. This is no time for bashfulness.
No clean silverware. Use a spoon with some history.
Don’t sit. Stand tall above the sink.
Let it gutter the milk droplets that rain from your lips.
Feel yourself taking it in, feel it hitting the spots.
Feel yourself becoming something new.
Don’t be afraid to pray through the crunching.
Above all else, never settle for just one brand.
Mix it all together. This is America.