The sound of his heavy footsteps above me,
Call me to the kitchen every morning.
The white apron covers my everyday clothes,
As I seek the pantry for his breakfast.
Bagels, toast, or eggs?
Hopefully he will eat what I make him.
I wipe down the long breakfast table
And wash the dishes until they are spotless.
The coffee comes to a simmer,
And I pour it into his favorite cup.
The bagels pop out of the toaster,
And startle me with the noise.
His breakfast is placed flawlessly down on the table,
With no imperfections in sight.
Stomping his feet angrily down the staircase,
He approaches me and stares down at his food.
He screams and yells,
And tells me it's not what he wants.
But it's perfect
Truly perfect I believe,
What else does he need from me.
The glass from his favorite cup is soon shattered onto the floor,
And water rushes my eyes with fear of what is to come next.
Just like every other day he eventually leaves for work,
And that concludes my normal breakfast with him.