Stale Bread

He starts with the natural order of things, thinks wash bedsheets, been pushing chores aside - that's just natural. Done with saccharine, from now on teaspoonful of honey at least until the year-old jar stops oozing. Corn flakes gone stale, the days fall out of sleep way sooner than they should, and that's hard to do - naturally. Order comes and goes. Mold grows blue bread nothing last as long as fungus. It's the predicable that catches him unawares. Nature chugs along, small birds stop singing by noon, maybe he forgot to hear them, natural orders arrange his face for all the foreseeable day then bored with its cosmic game - leaves him alone.