First World Problems

Dilemma Cold air of winter nights Breath a visible mist Gloves protect from frostbite From fingertips to wrist Ringing phone in my hand Alerts important call Now a flaw that’s unplanned Gloves create a wall Screen is shielded from a touch This call I must now take Removing hand from warmth’s clutch Tough decision I must make Snack attack Squeaky clean with a hint of mint Colored white, plaque is absent Placed the brush by the sink Now my stomach starts to think A grumble calls from deep within Hiding where my hunger’s been What to do? The taste won’t please Why does my stomach want to tease? Hunger waits as I ignore Thoughts of food and drink galore With resistance I make a snack And I brushed again, I’m back on track