5 am. Light breeds optimism. New day. Changes are eminent.
Alarm shrieks the reality of responsibility. Snooze always a possibility.
Purring friend delights in your presence. Warming acceptance.
So many possibilities to make the day great.
Noise fills the room. Unnotable occurrences broadcasted by smiling, lineless faces. Murder, robbery, celebrity this, celebrity that, flood, death, fire, car wreck, celebrity blah, celebrity blah.
530 am. The pure smell of coffee beans invaded by Glade. Starbucks always wins.
Smiling at strangers met with blank eyes and half nods. Misanthropy sets in.
Brake lights, my kid is smarter than yours, roadkill. Coffee – cold.
700 am. Cubicle window overlooking downtown. Phillip Morris, an eyesore in my view. Suits in big chairs, smoky windows killing my hope.
When will the day begin?
By Renee Newman
Copyright 2007 by Renee Newman.
All rights reserved.
Reproduced by Poetry 360 with permission of the author.
