Thursday Morning Coffee

 

Pick up a cup

of full-bodied morning.

Dressed for success,

or a pauper’s funeral.

Ask the day

if it has any plans

for me?

The street is quiet,

I know it doesn’t care, anyway.

Take a minute

to run though things

in my head.

So much I don’t understand,

but there isn’t much I can do.

Just sit here,

hours before sunrise,

feeling powerless.

Shake my head.

A penchant for melancholy

makes for a half-decent poet,

but a terrible husband,

and a worse leader.

I know my purpose

is asleep upstairs

and my work boots

are by the door.

 

 

DJR – 2022

Leave a Reply