You grasped the pea pod particularly tight that night
Broke it in two, so that one pea fell
"Oops," you smirked; glad to be rid of one, but not the other.
And a bumblebee buzzed by (or was it a honey bee, I couldn't tell)
You swatted it away, but it was ready to give up its life to cause you pain
And I found myself wishing that I had such courage.
You reached into the freezer, taking out some frozen bread
Once again, you took two and not one,
And so was forced to pull them apart before popping them into the toaster
To undoubtedly burn them like all the rest.
You took out the honey and milk (one sweet, the other sour),
Your sticky fingers contaminating everything you touched
Until you were forced to wash your hands to be rid of the sweetness.
And I stood still, watching the scene unfold, clutching my gut
And wondering whether life would be different,
If only you hadn't allowed the milk to go to waste.