We were having breakfast
that morning,
and I was chewing too loud;
the eggs had too much salt,
the bacon was overcooked,
and the toast was cold.
You asked me if we
had any orange juice:
there wasn’t any.
You asked me if I’d go
get some.
I said yes.
All the stores were fresh out,
so I had to go to the next town
over.
When I arrived home,
I tried to turn
the doorknob,
but it was locked;
my key didn't work
anymore.
I knocked, and there
was no answer.
I sat down on
the steps with
the carton
beside me.
I stayed there for days,
and you never left the house
(maybe you were already gone).
I guess I took too long to get
orange juice.
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I like this offering... enough tension & melancholy to speculate about both parties.
