the morning coffee gives its diatribe on the freedoms one ought to be afforded in the world’s wealthiest nation. (thankfully) no one else is awake to lend an ear, with the exception of the breakfast room counter, an early riser who loves the soft warmth of sunrise on marble. A bit dense, understandably, the breakfast room counter excitedly awaits the morning coffee’s tales of the laissez “fair” and looks forward to attending some day.

the waffle iron reached a new level of high (heat) and has been out since brunch yesterday. still dressed in Sunday’s batter, slightly disoriented, though well-rested, the waffle iron interrogates the morning coffee: but why should you have all and your neighbor none?

the morning coffee poses another question in response: would you tell a plant to stall it’s growth because it is shy of outgrowing the pot?

now the orchid on the windowsill is involved...no, you procure a bigger pot

and the potted herbs have gotten riled up

parsley easy for you to say

sage you’re not sharing a planter with four other plants

rosemary who drink up all the water

basil and can’t keep their roots to themselves

dill bet it’s nice being able to afford all that leg room

it’s not long before the overripe bananas are awoken and interject with a lick of socialist commentary pulled from an unyielding reserve of university memories. The overripe bananas speak in unison and cite Rosa Luxembourg, Huey P. Newton, and contemporary pop icon Charlotte XCX in their rebuttal.

the blender suggests we break it all down and rebuild

the juicer says it’s the 1% who need to liquidate their assets and settle up with the common man

the Dutch oven clutches pearls

the morning coffee reminds everyone of an oft-forgotten safeguard — the invisible hand — and plays (“plays”) devil’s advocate in defense of trickle down economics

god forbid that old baguette from last Thursday gets a whiff of these plutocratic ramblings. a stone would likely be thrown. luckily the baguette has grown hard

of hearing

though the croissants are in their box (echo chamber) whispering among themselves: one should never have to do without certain...necessities

and the herbs de Provence are wondering how any croissant that comes mass produced off the shelves of a wholesale superstore could feel entitled to express an opinion on government. Though everyone knows a defining characteristic of croissants is an opposition to all extravagances of which they are not the sole and direct benefactors.

the emptied craft beer bottle got in late and requests (unintelligibly) that the volume be reduced, though mumbles something about the rise of artificial insemination signaling the death of intimacy before drifting back to sleep

over on the fridge the magnets are bickering about whether the fire truck red letter A or the Little Gianni’s Pizzeria (come for the pizza stay for the famiglia) “leaning tower of pizza” should get to press up against this week’s spelling test.

the extra virgin coconut oil is in the midst of an identity crisis and is far too occupied with the transition (solid to liquid) to comment. the door frame and a plastic spork share a glance that says I remember those days but they don’t really get it. Times have changed.