Just one of those days, you know.
Alarm clock blares you awake
and you wish with all your body
that you were still deciphering
the backs of red eyelids.
You reach over to the dreadful
day-ruiner to give yourself
even two more minutes.
You drift back asleep,
only to soon wake again
to the scream of the
sleep-death machine.
This time it's for real,
this time I have to get up.
Drag yourself out of your cozy cove
like so many pounds of wet cement.
Three years later, your feet have reached
the floor and you stand up,
letting out a moan and sigh.
You toss the peeving clock into the trash.

Look-see out of the bedroom window to
a bright, clear, quiet day.
Only a few people around.
Little girl waiting for a car to go
by so she can ride her bike
across the street.
Old couple inching their way down
the street for their
morning marathon.
Crazy lady from next door walks
to the mailbox, chirping wildly
to herself as animatedly as
any other day.
A red-winged blackbird mocks her,
the same high-pitched warble
spewing forth constantly.
Then a crash, grind as a monstrous
dump truck tears its way up the
street toward your neighbor's,
where they're putting in an
in-ground pool so the kids can
splash around screaming all day.

Turn your head away,
remembering that you have a very
unpromising day ahead of you.
Go into the kitchen where you find
you're out of milk and cereal.
Damn... I'm going back to bed.



9/17/07

11/25/2008

Author's Note: This was written as prose. Now it's the Reader's Digest condensed version.

Posted on 11/26/2008
Copyright © 2024 Eric Hinkle