Leftover breakfast

Nothing ever, he said. I don’t
want to do nothing, never.

She was trying to dress him for
school but he wouldn’t put his
arms down for the sleeves. She
was getting flustered. She wondered
if you could call that flustering.

She said, okay, no school
today. To his smile she said
no nothing else neither.
You can stand here in the hall.

His stubbornness stood in the hall
for forty-five more seconds before he
put on his coat, himself, and ran out
the door. She thought about smiling

to herself but remembered
she had to do the same thing yesterday
and probably again tomorrow.

She went into the kitchen to eat
his leftover breakfast: half
a waffle, syrup-sopped, three
strawberry tops, and milk already
sweating through the sun-warmed glass.