The refined high art of breakfasting
cannot too much be touted;
its value to the day
ought never to be doubted.
In cherry tomato season
it’s especially exact;
one keeps the tomato whole,
juicily intact.
It’s cozied in the mouth
(don’t try to sing or whistle
lest you wing it into orbit,
the oops’d misguided missile)
along with crusty morsel
of sourdough browned just right,
one aims for balanced tandem,
the perfection in the bite.
The delicacy of timing,
simultaneous squirt and crunch,
requires selfless practice
sometimes ’til half-past lunch.