I sit,Your turn: a poem, if you choose, about the start of your day.*
Glistening in bug spray,
Listening to the wires
Crackle in the night-steam
And the garbage truck
Churn its dirty work,
The willow around me,
And I’m as close to Holy
As I’ll ever be.
* Good, bad, short, long, punny, ribald, emo, po-mo, bro-mo**, limerick, haiku, sonnet, rondel, doo-wop, hip-hop—all is fair in love and early-morning poetry.
** “Bro-mo”: I just made that up. (You can use it but you have to cite me.) It’s when bros (dudes) get really po-mo (post-modern) together.
Open eye, open other one
ReplyDeleteWonder
How flies wake up.
Early, I’m awake.
ReplyDeleteMachine hums; I attempt sleep.
Does my day begin?
No, no, no, no, no, NO.
ReplyDeleteSaturday.
I'm staying in bed.
I crawl on my belly
ReplyDeleteLike a soldier,
Half naked.
Self-lit numbers blare in the half darkness of morning.
Alternating electronic beeps and whirrs confuse me.
In the fog, I forget where I am
For a moment.
My senses return.
I get out of bed
And take a shower.