As he rolls out of bed, <br />cotton sheets tangled <br />the usual sense of urgency <br />like unwanted regurgitation <br />awaits him with judgmental eyes. <br /> <br />Shower too hot, dammit, <br />plumber says it's the Legionnaire's, <br />public health measure, <br />water needs to be hotter than hot, <br />and he wonders about the past, <br />when his mother would watch <br />over him and all his needs <br />in return for something undefined, <br />there was no Dove soap then, <br />threequarter cleansing cream, <br />and he could sleep in if needed, <br />there would still be bread and butter <br />and fatback on the kitchen table, <br />not so today, when the bosses, <br />and, seemingly, everyone else <br />were stressed, grumpy and powerful, <br />two strikes and you got the thumbs down. <br /> <br />He was wearing a full Castro beard, <br />for the simple reason of economics, <br />shaving was such a time-consuming bore, <br />still drunk with Sandman's elixir <br />he arrives on the barstool, facing scrambled, <br />ginger toast and a fistful of vitamins. <br /> <br />Is she winking at me? What the.... <br />well, I'll be! I must have forgotten, <br />others might, but I get up at seven <br />what possessed me on this day? <br />Early presenile dementia, I say, <br />mind's in gear, how could this happen, <br />well, never mind, and here she winks, <br />again, they say that her age is something, <br />a re-awakening of dormant desires, <br />a second coming, grinning at the thought, <br />and, like a lamb led to slaughter, <br />he feels the updraft under wings <br />that lift alerted spirits high. <br /> <br />He finds the cold side of his pillow <br />and welcomes eager, knowing fingers, <br />as they get cracking with the warming rays <br />of morning sun's astonished mood, <br />they have another hour now, be still.<br /><br />Herbert Nehrlich<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/sunrise-is-at-seven/
