The Morning
On a good day:
I wake up
From a strange dream.
Desperately replaying it in my mind,
Over and over again,
So as not to forget it,
I feel Mom tickle my feet.
"Wake up!" she says.
I accidentally kick her,
Then apologize profusely.
My arm hairs raise and bristle
From the morning chill,
Reaching out for the delicious comfort
Of a hot shower.
My favorite club
Is after school today.
I'll spend the drive there
Contemplating the nuances
Of temporal relocation
In a vain effort
To have the final bell
Resound sooner.
There's the scent of chicken
Floating from the crock pot
That will be on all day.
Dinner tonight
Will be great.
Mom went shopping last night.
There's an unopened box
Of Cap'n Crunch in the pantry.
Breakfast
Will also be great.
That cold front
That's been raging all week
Has finally broken.
Outside will likely smell
Clean and fresh,
Like dew off the petals
Of flowers.
I stretch and roll out of bed,
Hoping for the best
From today.
On a bad day:
I just can't stand
The annoying blare
Of that alarm clock.