Breakfast, 4/24/09

[bowtiecamera]

Again,
you have
fucked up
my pancakes.
Did you think
I wouldn't notice
my luscious
blueberries
cold, naked,
shaking in
the juice of
their beaten
brethren atop
a loathsome
stack of five?
They long
for the warm
embrace of
buttermilk batter,
to be buttered
in that
buttery love.
But you,
Ihop waitress,
harbinger of
half-assed
damage control,
have denied
the tiny fruit
their rightful
resting place.
I only hope
their wretched
fate was
sweetened by
a grave blanket
of whipped cream.