Mornings
I roll out of bed,
go and pee,
feed Leo dry food,
take my blood sugars,
scowl at the numbers,
settle downstairs
and pour a bowl
of cereal with milk
except for the days
of microwave oatmeal
buried in brown sugar.
That's how I start my days
on Planet Earth.
The end is a whole 'nother
set of rituals.
Bruises between.
November 17, 2015
prompt: ritual poem
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