Awake


Today is one of those gray mornings
that seems to demand a return
to slippers and dreams,
the kind that absolutely precludes
concentration or analytical thought.
For one marooned
in a harshly-lit classroom,
it is the kind of morning
that leads to writing dreary poems
that bemoan one's very existence.
"Why are we here?
Why are my socks wet?
Why the hell did I even wake up?"
The questions pile up
like cars on a slippery road,
on mornings such as this.
The fluorescent lights above
seem viciously cheerful in contrast.
it is as if they are saying,
"Go ahead, be as depressed as you please,
but expect no quarter from us!"
Their unforgiving illumination
never wavers or flags,
even on mornings such as this.
in fact, i have the oddest feeling
that they are watching me,
peering down at the scribbles
that appear so swiftly
in my old notebook.
the rain, meanwhile,
has slid down the windowpanes,
snuck underneath the sash,
and is puddled dreamily
next to my left shoe.
I suppose even it had no desire
to leave its soft bed of clouds,
especially on a morning such as this.