Evolution of the English Breakfast

it seems quite crazy that —

after the Big Bang
the scatterballing of the planets
billions of years
of fire and ice and precious
little hospitality
the piling up of continents
pooling of oceans
the deep-sea hydrothermal vents
farting the first bubbles of life
the first fish gulping air
the first bird flaunting feathers
the slow plod of Galapagos
tortoises, the subtle finches
the first ape playing hopscotch —

we come to this banal
morning, epitome of eons
sum of the centuries:

a lipsticked coffee cup
a tear-stained paper towel
two shattered plates
smeared with the carnage
of scrambled eggs, the cooked flesh
of streaky bacon, a pudding
of dried blood, burnt holes
in blackened toast, and fruit
juice dripping on the floor
a kicked-in door
a ‘fuck you’ voicemail message

for God’s sake
let’s move on, evolve
if only to please Darwin