Arise with the sun,
Light springs from the vigorous bristles on your toothbrush, brush
Like so. Rinse.

Yawn.
Open the drawer. Squeak.
Underwear. Shoes. Pants. Damn.
Run that by again. Underwear. Pants. Shoes. OK.

Muffin from the Frigidaire oven, burned so that
Each little paper-wrinkle on the side is
Attached by fierce black glue.
Never mind.
Into the car, to the office, better late than
Never.
Green tint on your monitor that won't go away.
Lunchtime at Mickey D's, but your Big Mac tastes more like an
Egg-Mc-Burnt-Muffin.
Sitthroughanotherboringmeetingabouttheperfectshadeofblueforsomeboxof(gravel)raisins.
Sig-Alert all the way home.

Dinner. Some unidentifiable ruin from the more sinister regions of your Hotpoint fridge.
Another re-run.
Yawn.
Sleep, perchance to dream
.
.
.

Timothy A. Clark
1997