Sunday Morning

bacon frying
cold orange juice in a pretty pink glass
fresh bread waiting to be dunked
in a silver bowl of egg and cinnamon
sweet talk with my love
and a poem

There may be better lives lived
but this morning I certainly can't imagine them.

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We interrupt this idyllic moment with a reality check: two hours later, standing in Lowe's, feeling fat with french toast and staring at multi-packs of drill bits, Lionel Ritchie blares Easy like Sunday Morning from the overhead speakers. I've got to pee; I'm late for spin; I left my water bottle at home; Just five more minutes, babe, C. says; Please, I say; Babe, he says, relax; Relax? I am relaxed. Don't I seem relaxed!?!?

Peaks and valleys, folks, peaks and valleys.