The Morning
Tepid water from the bathroom tap
Washes my face with a flanneled slap
The water trickles between my fingers
My reflection in the mirror now lingers
Whilst I study the dampened brow
My face portrays the years unbowed
The morning’s call a morning news show
Tells me a lot more than I want to know
Microwaved wheat- bix and milk spooned
As I ponder the morning’s gloom
No anticipation of the coming day
Just a routine hum-drum not delayed.
© Paul Warren Poetry
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