TOAST

I toasted myself with sound sleep
All night in simmering dreams
On Sunday morning, I stood in kitchen
Making breakfast, toasting bread

The bread lay browning on a pan
Heating towards a crunchy maturity
Like I lay last night in bed
Dreaming without responsibility

Now I'll prepare a suitable filling
To paste between two pieces of bread
And make a sandwich to start my day
But alas, by now my hunger's dead

No different– this sandwich life
Half-eaten, refrigerated and stale
Stored, saved for later consumption
But never microwaved again 

The last stop is a pile of dump
Where half eaten food becomes trash
Where former efforts become waste
Where lies a guilt that I can't face