wrote this one this morning after some cheerios. c4c

Arriving home ten hours after leaving for work,
I sit to eat a bowl of cereal and slip into a memory.
One of the millions of childhood memories you strangely
remember, from a time never thought about by yourself.
Raising my spoon observing a cheerio scale the wall,
I fly through the window of my old “Red Ranger” house
(as my sister would later name it) into my younger eyes
where I sat across a stale like yellow table, from my father.
We were both enjoying large bowls of cheerios when I noticed
his cereal eating pattern which seemed interestingly obsessive.
With every spoonful carried out there was always a straggler
or two desperately climbing for safety, and with every return
of his silver weapon he would knock each one down like they
were all wild bears bound to break out and tear him apart.
Some would climb up and he couldn’t have another bite until
managing to smack each one, no matter how many times he clumsily missed.
I clearly remember the obsession being laughable yet bordering crazy,
yet only a vague vision of the bowl, cereal, spoon, hand and forearm.
I realize now I’ve long been at war against cereal with every bowl of
my own since I was that wet moldable clay before hastily drying out.
I wish I could say this was the only time I really thought about my father,
Because I have to say it is the only time I can remember him-
or rather his arm.