The world sleeps on, in silent hush,But Hank must go — there is a rush.I tiptoe out, my socks now wet,A squish confirms: it’s poop. Not sweat.I sigh, defeated, eyes...
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There’s peace in this routine, I swear A scoop, a sift, the morning air. Miso watches. She approves... Until I miss. Then silence moves. Her judgment echoes through the room...
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I rose with grace, a peaceful soul,Hot chai in hand, a morning stroll.Then—splat—beneath my left bare heel,A truth too soft, too gross, too real.The day begins as all days do...A...
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