-the time I love the best-

I woke up too damned early this morning;
nudged the cat awake for a measure of retribution.
self diagnostics find me half asleep.
the bedside lamp's turned on.

there's trouble in the bedroom.

slipping my left foot

into its proper slipper,

the big toe hits the side.
try again.

little toe hits the other side.
third time's the charm.
right foot slips in nicely.
cat patters to the box.
(hardwood floors.)

a bend of my knees
to get the body standing.

there are kinks to unkink.

shuffling into the bathroom,

left shoulder bumps the doorjamb.

it’ll hurt like hell

in the estimated fraction of a second
it takes for the brain to react to its receptors.
a fraction of a second is not long enough.

the torso of my body bends without notice

above the bathroom sink.

I splash my face at the faucet of running water.

my sink runneth over.

wait. no it doesn’t.
water's running freely down the drain.

the brittle, time-riven stopper rests chainlessly  
on the outer rim of the sink, the rubber of it
dry and cracked as the inner walls of my nostrils.

I towel-down and close the distance

to the cabinet's cold reflection, wide-eyed
and smeared in the blue-hued harshness of florescence.
I've seen better mirrors.

downstairs, the button

of true awakening is pressed.
light's on.
the heaven-scent is in the brewing.
mug is held at the grip.–– "the right hand of God".
I pour from the left,–– "Beelzebub's hand"!
It's too late in life to change the established way of things.

I'm nearly awake looking eastward
toward the river running southward
presenting for consideration
this prelude to the day ahead because
I woke up too damned early this morning.


Swansea