Morning
Brings sunbeams
squeezing through closed blinds
stabbing into my eyelids
like little light darts
aimed with precision
at my still-sleeping brain.
Time to wake up.
A new day with new possibilities
awaits, tempting me with its promises
but they sound like tired lies.
Just as I decide to roll over
and press my face into the pillow
to simulate the dark of night
the alarm sounds like too many trumpets
blaring in proclamation of the day’s cavalcade
of self-important people and events.
Grudgingly, I pry open my eyes
with the force of a dozen mental crowbars.
My head lolls toward the clock
and that’s when it hits me. ~ ~ ~ Monday.
Down comes my fist
like a gavel pronouncing judgment.
The verdict:
snooze.
About the Creator
Randy Baker
Poet, author, essayist.
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Comments (4)
Mondays, man. It's a mood. Love this poem!
I love it! Great image as well.
Wow! Best! I love it!
I hate the snooze button. Like a false promise...;)