Anchored

I had a big bowl of sadness for breakfast today
which quickly grew soggy in milk
then clung to the edges all mushy and gray
like fortified fare of its ilk.

My coffee spoon became the moon
a face of stone, collision prone
another spin let sweetness in
while saucers sipped each wasted drip.

The Weatherman said everything looks sunny
so finish your milk and pass the honey
for things are seldom as bad as perceived;
digesting this news left me slightly relieved,
I sloughed off the guilt for the wars that we've fought
and left for the day, my mooring lines taut.