Dosie Dotes War

Young and hungry
my mornings began with a wall of boxes
detailing serving suggestions, and limited time offers.
My fortress
against the terrible humming sound my brother made
while he ground his flakes
or puffs or squares or pops into manageable cud.

When the humming stopped
7 year old lids dared, reached over the keep so
hoping to meet a vaporized mist in his chair
or puddled base pairs
but instead witnessed a gaping swallow cavernous bite
and worse - refill.

The slurping self-defense
cardboard fortifications
other fraternal alliance
projectiles, arrows, prayers, all
to deliver this poor citizen
I,

ate molten oats,
a burning glacier of sugar crust stuck
to swollen grain and coldest
milk added carefully by drop onto the spoon,
each building greater whiter tension
      suspended over a surface until collapse
fanning unsullied falls onto the transparent glaze.

Then the full want of first bite was realized
warming and cooling, co-mingling with tongue and bud,
sliding down my middle hitting
with a bass-bowed thud
happy only when the bowel was tipped
and after
a bottle-full-burped glow
made breaking the fast all glorious
until the humming began again.