She gives him an icy glare,
frowning while brushing a strand of black hair away from her face,
still damp from the shower.
Inane morning news show, the TV too loud, pollutes the air.
He ignores this while chewing noisily on corn flakes
and
stares at a framed picture of a beach just over her right shoulder.
She can’t stand the sound of his crunching.
He stands up suddenly, spills half a cup of coffee
and
curses quietly while she wipes the lukewarm brew off her bare feet.
He does a half-assed job of cleaning the splatter.
He could never scale the mountain of her disappointment.
He walks out of the kitchen with the floor still wet and slick,
saying, as he departs, “It’s going to be a cold one today.”
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