Eyelids snapped open
In the act of waking.
Sight is blurry, then focusing
Slowly,
Slowly,
Then completely.
A room comes into view
And an alarm busts the pane of
Glass between sleeping and waking.
Twisting, vertebrae popping into place.
Yawning, lungs expanding to accept
Oxygen a plenty.
Stretching, then bringing a fist,
Like a hammer,
Down on the blaring alarm.
I want to go back into the darkness of sleep,
But something stops me.
A smell.
Wait,
I sniff the air and sit up,
Shoot up.
Multiple smells.
A sweet saltiness,
Frying meat married to it in
A glorious symphony.
BACON.
My leg swings over the side of the bed,
And I sniff again,
Inhale.
A soft smell,
Fluffy, like a pastry.
Indeed a pastry, or is it?
Pancakes...
Yes indeed. Weekend breakfast
To pair a weekend mood.
I run into the kitchen,
Following the scent trail,
A hound in search of its rabbit,
Tripping over a hound that's in the literal tense.
My dog runs under my feet, and
I tangle my ankles in
The width of its dachshund body.
I fall hard,
Fast,
And onto my face.
Not that it stops me,
For breakfast motivates the animal within,
And I scramble up in pursuit of
Scrambled eggs,
Book it in haste to get
Bacon,
And pick myself up to reach
Pancakes.
I then run into a wall,
My shoulder checking the intersection
Of two walls,
Then run into the dining room,
Spinning in search of food.
I find it in the air
Rather than on the table.
Empty skillets,
Lonely, syrup covered plates,
And a note on the counter,
Asking me to do the dishes,
Telling me I was home alone.
I curse my luck,
As well as my siblings,
For they were to blame for eating the
Pancakes.
And bacon.
And sausage.
I glare at the empty plates,
Empty skillets,
And feel the emptiness in my middle,
Widened by the smells around me.
Angrily, I snatch the plates from the table. I grumble as I
Scrub the skillets.
Murmur as I raucously
Put the plates into the racks,
Then slam the door to the dish washer,
Starting the wash cycle.
In doing so,
I hear a rattle.
A clack of silverware.
Looking at the other side of the sink,
I see a plate
I hadn't before.
Covered by a dome of plastic.
Hope rising,
I lift the cover,
Seeing a glorious sight.
Two slices of
Beautiful, thick bacon,
And two fluffy, stuffed pancakes
Drizzled with a sweet, sweet berry sauce.
I grin, my mouth watering
Stomach rumbling.
"From Dad" is inscribed in the red sauce.
Finally,
Pancakes.
