Poems of monotony.

Morning blues.

Groan.

Another day.

Three more until the weekend.

The alarm sound is a harp.

Usually soothing.

Each morning like a drill to the side of my head.

I don’t really have much to achieve by picking my body off the mattress.

But then again, I won’t really achieve much more by remaining.

I readjust myself once, twice for good luck.

I toss the sheets off.

The jittered cold hits my face.

I pull the sheets back on.

That startling warmth makes my wriggle my feet with pleasure.

But again, what am I achieving?

I toss the sheets off for a second time and leap out of bed, beating the striking cold as I race downstairs.

The bathroom is just as it was yesterday.

I rush into the shower without an ounce of indecision.

The very same warmth of my bed spouts out of the shower head.

‘Come at me day!’ I yell with delight.

Three minutes later and I waddle out of the shower.

The greatest pleasure of my day has possibly passed.

I reminisce.

Today was another day.

Groan.

 

The kitchen.

Instructions.

How to.

Why do I want this again?

Fill water to the line marked on the cup.

There are two lines.

My head is racing with the possibilities of a wasted Mac and cheese.

I don’t even like Mac and cheese.

I take the first option.

I stir hard and fast.

It splatters everywhere, a mark of a brilliant chef.

I begin talking to myself as if I’m a food critic.

This gets me nowhere.

I imagine being in the kitchen of Vue de Monde or a Paris Wine Bar. 

Everyone is complimenting me on my new dish; rigatoni, kangaroo steak, leeks and wild potato.

I look back at my cup.

Still Mac and cheese.

The microwave transforms it into a mushy mango sorbet type.

I can’t look at my work anymore.

I feel guilty, a gritty criminal of the kitchen.

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