FictionPoetry

Struggles with Food

I woke up wondering what to expect
Pancakes and eggs, perhaps steak from last night
But the lack of spice leads me to suspect
An absence to these much-wanted delights

What’s in my faithful cupboard, I ponder
As I spring from my bed in a great fright
I dash to the kitchen, and by thunder!
There’s neither a crumb nor smidgen in sight!

Crawling amongst the empty wraps and stains
Are a dozen worms, slimy and grimy
The scene shoots through my heart a stabbing pain,
“It’s all your fault, you damned devil Kylie!”

She storms from her room with nothing to wear
Jabs me her finger and loudly declares,
“I’m on my period, you whining pout!
But all you can do is gripe and drink stout!”

 

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