Most Mornings
Well so
Most mornings the small black/ White dog wakes me before 7
Wanting food I stumble through with half a cup & fill her metal bowl
& then go piss & avoid my refection in the bathroom mirror
& return to the warm & welcome bed where my wife has turned left
& we lie in formation like flying ducks over a creek somewhere
Peaceful for 20 minutes or so until the passing tractor
The dog must chase raises me again & off she goes
& the light is enough for coffee if I want it
& sometimes I do & the world is something then
That light that light
Softens the day´s coming load
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