Breakfast Time

Peanut butter sticks to the roof of my mouth,
we talk about social planning in communities.
There is safety in your work,
and how vested interests can co-
opt the democratic process.
Shifting from one foot to the other
I apply bigger and bigger
amounts of peanut butter to toast.
I know how you feel about proportion.

I’m wondering if you want to talk about it,
the elephant in the room,
which arrived two – maybe ten days ago
and sat itself down by the bathroom door.
At first it seemed a bit apologetic trying to keep its
painted feet neatly together under the bulge of its belly.
And, in a bashful way, feeling slightly overdressed
for a weekday morning took care with his trunk
to tuck in the colourful fringing of his festive
jacket so that it didn’t splay out onto the floor.

Yet as the days slip past I think he’s become resigned
to being here. And a little offended that no one has
even mentioned it, or offered him so much as a
carrot or glass of water in welcome. He is now reclining a lot more
casually on one of the sofas in the living room,
his chipped painted feet hanging off the arm.
The brightly coloured fringing is balding it keeps
getting snagged on things and there are
tell-tale bits of it in the shower, kitchen and even,
a couple of times, the bedrooms.

So perhaps I should just say something because he’s helping
himself to all the biscuits and, I don’t know if you noticed, but
he spilled tea all over your clean white sheets.