Ruined Meals, I wanted the last bite

The smell of
unsure breakfasts,
I made for you.
Always haunt my
kitchen
in the morning.
All batted eyes
and kissy lips
slipped through my fingers,
like that damn spatula.
Always slippery,
when greased
with your expectations. 
You left your
dirty dishes in the sink,
and I watched it
pile up.
All that uneaten food,
a history of our home,
in stains.
All that pancake batter,
sticking to my apron,
like your hand always
stuck to my thigh.
No one said grace,
at that kitchen table.
No napkin fell from
your lap
when
you left,
a hungry man.
No, I don't salivate,
at the smell of
bacon.
No.
I wont feed you anymore.

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