Morning Rush

Mornings that come too soon

When sleep is in a rush

A cup of coffee is never enough

For deeper still, lying at the root

Is not a trifle, but a rage in a dream

That won’t go away

That leaps out of bed with him

Even when he drives himself

To distraction, it is there…

When out of the showerhead

It rains hard and cold

And the shivers are not what

He thought they are anymore.

Fear could never be this intractable--

No, it can’t be fear

Because the fear died long

Before last night when he

Realized it was the demon

Of someone’s perverse vanity

That looks at him from the blurry mirror

A smug smile… that

Hideous sardonic grimace

That doesn’t reflect who he is

And though he can’t shave away

The stubborn thought

When the second cup makes

The familiar morning headlines seem

As though he lost his freedom

Forever… he thinks of this

Siren, this eerie woman’s

Self-love and pride

Over her own banality.

And he laughs at himself

And he stretches…

And he realizes how close

He really was to losing

The freedom he has left.

~Dr.M