Jetstream’s Belittle

Spilled milk on a blue tablecloth,

Two streaks and splatters,

Child’s laugh over cereal.

An ocean above me, air clear,

Seeing less than a downward deep,

Tea pot’s pouring unicorns and babies,

Out a spout held in the hands of a situated innocence.

Winking at the deep, the chandelier bites at my eyes,

Burnt in my own tablecloth,

Spotted dissonance in the sight’s array.

Squinting hard, patch the gap,

All while trying to listen to the child’s ridicule.