In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Two Right Feet.”
calm the electronic songbird,
stare up at the ceiling.
Count moving objects in the sky
give thanks to blinking plane that hovers.
Hope it does not meet its demise
above my head.
Think about snuggling with the dog,
wrapped still and snoring in the blankets.
Think about calling in sick
to wrench out a unique day.
Drag feet to shower, still slaving routine.
Wipe eyes under water.
Wish things were delayed by even an hour
wish for more sleep.
Wrapped in a towel and warm from the water
clean thoughts start to take shape.
If things were really pushed back an hour,
if I could reverse back to bed
I would be scrambling, awake but unshowered
and late for the day planned ahead.