Amused Disuse
Waking, realizing dawn was past
Hearing a background noise
Some what like a wet tin whistle
Child blown in a futile attempt at a note
“What kind of bird is that?”
“A red winged blackbird”
She rose and left me lying abed
Wondering what else she lived
That I missed so easily so busily
So lazily dependent on her living
So easily a part of it
As she is so much of mine
The smell of grinding coffee
Led me down the stairs
Some where there’s a poem
To pen on this awakening
To mild frustrated fear
What powers of observation am I
Losing to disuse
Habits help to pass the time before
The coffee kicks life up a bit
Amusing to the muse
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