Breakfast Table Data

The corn flakes,

they taste like cardboard,

a bland crunch in the quiet room.

My spoon scrapes the bottom,

a small, tinny tune.

My eyes drift to the box,

its bright, insistent blue,

and the grid of numbers there,

a neat little chart

of percentages and sugars,

'Daily Values' in a tiny font.

A smiling sun, so utterly fake,

beside some vitamin I'll never take.

I trace 'Sugars Added' with a finger,

a small, meaningless line,

a habit I prolong,

anything to not look at the empty chair.

This data, so precise,

doesn't tell me why the coffee's cold,

or why the house feels old.