The morning after

 The morning after 

the sacred halls 

of our democracy 

were desecrated, 

I sat 

at the breakfast table 

and poured frosting 

over pancakes, 

smothered French toast 

in berries 

and butter, 

salted crisp hashbrowns 

and fluffy omelets. 

The coffee was hot 

and sweet 

and I ate 

as though it was 

the end of 

the world. 

It wasn’t-

it was only 

the beginning.