Milk, because the house still expects it. Bread, because my hands still make two sandwiches and catch themselves at the second. Apples, the small hard ones you never liked, which is why I can eat them now without weeping in aisle four. Coffee. Coffee. Coffee. The cashier asks if I found everything I was looking for and I say yes because the truth would take longer than the line allows.
This a fake test poem created by First Verse - it will be deleted at launch
