Breakfast

It is shortly before seven a.m.
The scent hitting my nostrils
is incongruous with
my surroundings, namely
the upper deck of the 108 bus.
Sweet, slightly artificial,
it is familiar and yet
unidentifiable, until I look up.
The elderly Japanese gentleman
to my right is eating a packet of
four blueberry muffins.
His unhurried, fluent actions
communicate his considered pleasure
in this unconventional breakfast.
At this precise moment, I can think
of nothing else I’d rather eat.

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