The Morning

On a good day:

I wake up

From a strange dream.

Desperately replaying it in my mind,

Over and over again,

So as not to forget it,

I feel Mom tickle my feet.

"Wake up!" she says.

I accidentally kick her,

Then apologize profusely.

My arm hairs raise and bristle

From the morning chill,

Reaching out for the delicious comfort

Of a hot shower.

My favorite club

Is after school today.

I'll spend the drive there

Contemplating the nuances 

Of temporal relocation

In a vain effort

To have the final bell

Resound sooner.

There's the scent of chicken

Floating from the crock pot

That will be on all day.

Dinner tonight

Will be great.

Mom went shopping last night.

There's an unopened box

Of Cap'n Crunch in the pantry.

Breakfast

Will also be great.

That cold front

That's been raging all week

Has finally broken.

Outside will likely smell

Clean and fresh,

Like dew off the petals

Of flowers.

I stretch and roll out of bed,

Hoping for the best

From today.

 

On a bad day:

I just can't stand

The annoying blare

Of that alarm clock.

This poem is about: 
Me
Poetry Terms Demonstrated: 

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