One may be served with butter and jam, another with champagne in a lifted hand. One helps begin the morning right, the other honors a person on a special night.

I sit in the corner, though not in punishment, I drink hot water, but seek no nourishment. I have no voice, yet I hiss and sigh, I warm up the room as the winter goes by. I am full of metal fins, but I cannot swim, I make cold air fade when the daylight grows dim.

Each gentle squeeze reminds me, nothing I hold is mine.

I arrive already rumpled by events, wearing the worlds hurry in little black coats. I fold my troubles before breakfast, then lose pieces to coffee, windows, and fish. By evening I know less than I did at dawn, though every page insists otherwise.

In a room where nature calls, a pause in life, a moment stalls. A porcelain throne, oh so neat, where relief and privacy meet.