Little Miss Brunch-Group-Photographer

Lyrics

[Intro]
The omelet arrived at 11:15 AM.
A perfect, beautiful fold. Steam rising like a little promise.
Then your iPhone, face up on the table, a black mirror.
It woke up.

[Verse 1]
“Okay, everyone, don’t touch anything yet.”
Your voice, the director’s.
“Sarah, can you lift your coffee cup? Just a little. Yes, like that.”
My fork is heavy in my hand.
I remember the smell of chives.
The cheese was probably still melted, then.

[Chorus]
Twelve takes for a Sunday morning.
“Make us laugh,” you say.
“No, smaller. Try again.”
And the quiet hum begins around the table,
while the omelet gets cold for the grid.

[Verse 2]
Take seven, you have us rearrange the salt shaker.
Take nine, you’re standing on your chair,
a bird of prey looking for an angle.
“Perfect, now everyone look at Jen and pretend she said something hilarious.”
Jen just looks tired.
The toast has gone rigid.
The butter sits there, a cold yellow square, un-spread.

[Chorus]
Twelve takes for a memory we never made.
“Make us laugh,” you say.
“No, smaller. Try again.”
And the quiet hum is louder now,
while the omelet gets cold for the grid.

[Bridge]
I watch you in the reflection of your screen.
Your face is so serious.
You’re not here with us.
You’re there, with them.
The audience that isn’t eating.
The ones who will tap a heart on this moment we’re not having.
The glimmer in your eye isn’t for us.
It’s for the glimmer in your phone.

[Outro]
“Okay, got it.”
You sit down.
You don’t pick up your fork.
You’re already writing the caption.
“Best brunch with my favorite people.”
The omelet is a cold, yellow stone.