Floor Butter

It was seven, I was late. The toast

hit linoleum butter-side down.

I picked it up before I'd thought about it,

took a bite and found

myself mid-chew—the floor's not clean,

I know—and felt

a strand of something at my lip.

Pulled it off. Dealt

with the rest of the piece standing

above the yellow smear on gray.

Rinsed my hands. Grabbed my bag.

Thought about it all the way.