Short On Work And Workingold Poems

Sleepy Couch

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I'm jarred and jolted up
      from a snoring sleep

by my old cranky alarm clock's
      clang and beep.

My legs they disobey me,
      can't make them move.

My coarse hair stands stiff
      in the old Einstein groove.

All the blurred way to the light
      switch by the door,

I stagger down  what seems 
      like a mile or more.

But every bone joint in me
      screams: arrgh and ouch!

So I drop myself back
      on my sleepy couch.

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