The morning sun edged out dark’s gloom,

And light flowed into Marla’s room.

She stretched and yawned and rubbed her eyes.

Another day; it’s time to rise.

So from the comfort of her bed–

Shaking cobwebs from her head–

She set her feet upon the floor,

Walked ‘cross the carpet, through the door.

Down the hall and to the right,

Into the kitchen, flicked on the light.

“First things first:  The coffee pot.

To jump start this brain I’ll need a lot.”

Though coffee’s fine, it’s not enough;

She’ll need to fix some other stuff.

So to the fridge she went, chop-chop!

Her slippers, in high gear, flip-flop.

She pulled the handle. The door swung wide.

Lo!  Just look at all that food inside!

Meat and eggs, cheese and beer.

Fruits and veggies–it’s all here!

Milk and orange juice. Condiments.

What gustatory opulence!

“For breakfast, though, let’s keep it light.

Toast and butter sound just right.”

Searching through that goodly grub

She reached in for the butter tub.

Giving it a mighty pull–

The tub was heavy, two pounds full!–

She grabbed a-hold that portly bowl

And huffed and puffed–God bless her soul!–

Until, at last, the tub was free

And Marla most triumphantly

Exclaimed, “Woo-hoo!”  She could almost taste

That warm brown toast, all butter-laced.

But then—Oh, no!–the bottom slid

And left her holding just the lid.

Then one split second, that was all

It took that massive butter ball

To land in one resounding “Thud!”

But still safe within its tub.

It barely grazed her left foot and toes;

Most fortunate that, we may suppose.

“Whew! That was close,” our Marla said;

Picked up the butter, grabbed the bread.

She ate her breakfast, drank the Joe.

With that, was up and on the go.

By end of day, her chores all done,

Phone calls returned, and errands run,

And looking forward to some sleep,

Marla plopped down in a heap.

(But wait!  Marla’s story isn’t through.

Come back next week and read Part Two.)


© 2011 The Wit’s End Scribbler

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