It can’t be me
This time
That keeps her up
Or drags her
Out of sleep
At that time of day
When others
Are getting coffee,
I live with the illusion
Of unsettled dreams
When I wake up, too,
Hearing the machine
Worker starting his car
Across the street,
Grinding the gears
As he pulls out,
Or the whistle of
Freight trains
Crawling snake-like
Through the meadows
While I,
Nod off again,
Maybe as she does,
Jerking awake
After too much time
Has passed
And I’m late to rise,
The early morning
Dreams always bring
The most pain,
Full of frustrated lust,
Unfulfilled romances,
The undigested supper
Of Scrooge,
Waking before the main
Plot is resolved,
With the real world
Waiting like a vulture
Outside my door.
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