Good Morning
It’s the nature of most mornings:
Get up, slowly become aware of the
lack of memories rendered during sleep.
Dreamless, and lacking a quality nightmare,
living a longed-for life:
simple, with a partner who loves,
a child who adores, and job that pays –
how lucky can you get and plain as can be.
So happy
trying to pick up
speed to get through
the kitchen wondering why
its not overwrought
by the condition.
(Should I know better?)
See who cares.
Dishes can break; toast can burn.
Still, I enjoy these mornings
when nothing is wrong,
passion is lacking,
and my poem won’t work.
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