of missing on fridays

on mondays, you complain.
on wednesdays, you gossip.
on fridays, you eat.

but what about
when i see your eyes,
shining through the toaster oven?

is it a good time to tell you
"you are missed",
when i just burnt my bagel
in that same
translucent toaster?

"do you want toast?"
"mom, make it look like it did
last easter."
when it was light and yellow,
the butter tossing its hair
down flights of steps
where the split ends
reached my split toenails.

i guess i could reach you,
if i really tried.
pick up the phone,
spotlight your locks.

instead i'll munch
on two dark brown circles,
wishing i was really eating,
and not just missing.