Flick

  

The morning clicks on

Like a light bulb

As I open my eyes

No subtle shades

Of fading gray

Just angry white,

And when

My eyes cease tearing

Angry blue

I am a spear to cast

Into the sunrise

Shaken in rage

I have no right to feel

I drum my fingers

On the table top

Like a judge does

His gavel

Impatient

Self-righteous

But not wrong

Waking up

And living life

At the extremes

With no subtle gray

Just the flick

Of a switch

to say

what is right

and what

is clearly

and most assuredly

wrong.