Breakfast

I eat breakfast alone.
My coffee makes no conversation
and the cereal just sits quietly
waiting for another hand movement.
There are no windows

in the kitchen where I eat
and the only flowers are on the apron
and cooker hood, greasy azaleas
that will be wiped off

when everything has been finished
and put away. I have eaten
alone for twenty six years
and still can't figure out

where everything is supposed to go,
what I'm supposed to do afterwards.