The coffee pot sputters me awake.

My children color while their waffles bake-

The younger one loves what the older one makes

So as a show of admiration she takes it

and runs away.  They call me, the judge, to break

the disagreement. Pleading their case so I will slake

their thirst for justice, and I agree and forsake

My kitchen station- My mistake.

I restore peace then return for the sake

Of waffles burning, big black flakes

Into the trash- everything brakes.

We sit with what remains. We partake




And when these perfect days are over,

How will they ever be replaced


With anything but ache?

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