Good Morning?

“Good Morning?”

The day starts with, “Good Morning!”

If only a good morning was true.

A crowd, in the kitchen,
grouchy early birds, all rushing,
an endless potential for disaster.
My brother snatches a pop tart,
choosing not to get involved,
avoiding the path to catastrophe.
Slowly pouring myself a bowl of Lucky Charms,
I prefer to take my time,
while Mom is assembling a breakfast of her own.
I reach for a spoon, knocking eggs out of her hands,
the eggs colliding into the floor in slow motion.
Two broken eggs, four wide-eyes, a disgusted sigh,
me, rushing, to clean up the mess I made.
If mornings were good,
days and nights would be, too.
With a combination of spilled milk,
grumpy family members, broken eggs,
a destination to hurry to,
Good mornings do not happen,
messes and crashes do.