They sell us breakfast in boxes,
bright mascots with teeth too white
to have ever chewed regret.
Each flake a sermon:
fortified with iron,
but brittle as promises
signed in disappearing ink.
I pour them anyway,
a cascade of counterfeit crunch,
the milk foaming like applause
for a trick I’ve seen before.
Nutrition panel reads like scripture—
thiamine, riboflavin, niacin—
a trinity of syllables
to sanctify the sugar.
And still, spoon after spoon,
I swallow the fraud,
grinning like an accomplice,
because even a con,
when toasted just right,
can taste like victory.
.