The plate hit the tile and the bread did a flip

The plate hit the tile and the bread did a flip.

I watched the last bit of the cheddar cheese drip.

I’m too tired to move or to reach for the broom,

standing alone in the heat of the room.

I picked it up slowly, the crust and the char,

too hungry to care about things as they are.

There’s a single gray hair from the cat on the side,

and nowhere for all of my failure to hide.

I ate it in three bites, standing right there,

tasting the butter and the cold kitchen air.