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
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