Teller

I'm scraping my sleep out of crusted china, or you know, every now and again
Rubbing eyes with the backs of my index fingers,
Careful not to get soap in them,
Slowly forgetful and here's where things should've been written down,
In the suds of a kitchen sink,
But I'm curious about what's for breakfast,
While I'm not even hungry,
Or am I?,
the pain and the rumbling are disassociated now,
Clank, scrub, hissy splash and clinkety clank some more,
Rinsey rinse, dry dry, dry, thump.
Mmmm, the smell of bacon.
No, it's just my imagination.