Poem About Morning
Whether it's sunny or not, it's sure
To be enormously complex --
Trees or streets outdoors, indoors whoever you share
And yourself, thirsty, hungry, washing
Am attitude toward sex.
No wonder half of you wants to stay
With your head dark and wishing
Rather than take it all on again.
Weren't you duped yesterday?
But the clock goes off, if you have a dog
It wags, if you get up now you'll be less
Late. Life is some kind of loathsome hag
Who is forever threatening to turn beautiful.
Now she gives you a quick toothpaste kiss
And puts a glass of cold cranberry juice,
Like a big fake garnet, in your hand.
Cranberry juice! You're lucky, on the whole,
But there is a great deal about it you don't understand.
This poem by William Meredith captures a feeling I think is familiar to a lot of people, but not specifically to me. I especially like being surprised at the end [the italics are his] from the cranberry juice onward.
It is one of those mornings when I awoke thinking, Was that thunder and lightening?" It was. And the swish on the window was rain and wind. Maybe it will be like this all day. Fine. I have plenty to keep me indoors.
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