By Joe Engel
I choose an alarm clock to bully
my feet to the floor every morning,
out of blanket and bed
knowing the furless cat in this February.
Hurried to hurry in the dark
where the moon hangs orange often
to signal any fortune,
before it goes under, any ease
in the weather at least
for those of us rolling out,
our headlights like projectors
casting turns in early day.
Today no moon, and the spoilers say
there is freezing rain
we get to salt and chip,
before we move to classrooms
where the salt we laid rides shoes
inside to tile floors,
like stars scattered in labs and hallways
galaxies we dissolve
and hours we navigate
with a mop splashing like an oar.
One Comment Add yours
Another good one! Keep them coming!