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.