This Is The Morning

Early breakfast for one:

oatmeal, frozen blueberries, 
a drop of agave nectar, 
a ton of cinnamon,
lowfat milk; ready
in two and one-half minutes.

You shake the last blueberry
from the bag into the dry oats,
the stubborn berry that won’t fall,
the one carrying the mutated bacterium
that survived all the countermeasures,
that will survive the microwave,
that will enter your body,
that will come to life, 
that will divide into a swift million,
that will damage cells within you
before dying off unnoticed 
except for a mild rumble within you
at two fifteen the next afternoon;
those damaged cells left behind will,
one day three years from now,
slide from wounded mad into feral spread,
become cancerous,
mystify the doctors,
and painfully kill you.

It’s not meant to be funny
that this is the morning
that will eventually kill you.

This bright eyed morning 
full of your own justified pride
at taking a positive step
is the morning you begin to die.
It’s not meant to be funny, 
but of course,

it is.

You should go
for a brisk walk
after breakfast.

Be sure
to look both ways
before crossing the street.

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About Tony Brown

A poet with a history in slam, lots of publications; my personal poetry and a little bit of daily life and opinions. Read the page called "About..." for the details. View all posts by Tony Brown

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