toast

Ten past twelve
is always a hungry time of night.
I wash dishes while I wait for my toast,
and I wish
I could somehow wash the knife
that I will use for the butter and jam
now, while I wait,
instead of afterwards.
It's so inefficient, living linearly.
And as I wait for the toast,
I think of other ways this could apply:
I could be doing my hair now,
not going to bed to tangle it;
writing my term paper now,
and being at a loss for words later,
during my week off,
when I will have plenty of time for that;
I could have gotten over you years ago,
so as to be better prepared
for this week,
but I didn't, and I'm not.