I pull berries from the shelf.
Sleepy waves of guilt waft,
as I notice too much plastic
packaging stacking up
in the fridge
“and blueberries are supposed
to help us remember”
I think.
The struggle to pry open the edges
is real- my fingers are dull instruments
this early in the morning
and the berry box puts up a fight
to wit I engage.
What
HO!
The box
pops
open
A great-haired Tarantula guards
the whole pint
all 8 eyes on my
next move which, in this case
involves awakening
to the horror of the
most likely possibility that I
simply snap the
plastic lid tight and
tuck them all
back into the cool dark
for someone else
to find and deal with
later.
Early Morning Poems 