Dawn slices through
the cracks in curtains.
The parting of
the dust motes,
even wedges between the notes
of snoring,
those anti-bird calls.
Dreams can't even
stand the warm,
let alone the heat.
They bum off like fog.
The radio alarm
kicks in,
the newspaper splats
onto the path.
News is here,
news of the world,
that bellicose gathering
of people, landscapes
and events,
of all that denies me sleep.
I rub the glaze from my eyes,
to let more light in.
By this, I may as well be
a secret agent in the pay of morning.
Before my first coffee,
I'm already inhaling the caffeine
of what's expected of me.
Work. Love. Duty. Feeling.
My watch circles my wrist
like it’s the war party
and I’m the wagons.
The first shot is fired.
6.30 A.M. pulls the trigger.
