Why

Why
in fuck’s name
can I not write about
pizzas
and gooey cheese
and chilli flakes
and sugar
and money
and honey
and home
and children
and recipes
and schools
or even the yellow white round faced moon
that shyly peeked through potted bamboo
while I was stuffing my face with French Fries.

Why the fuck must I think breathe write -
You.