Quarter to Ten

Blasted from my dream to dogs barking and a pounding on the door. What time is it? I struggled to focus on the clock. Eight eleven. You’ve got to be kidding me. Grab a robe. Corral the dogs. Don’t open the door. The dogs are still loose. We have a door dasher and I’m not prepared to run through the neighborhood in my robe after a speeding wiener. Wave timidly at the neighbor, let her daughter in. My son, running after me in all directions, realizing his failure to watch the clock and wake me up–on time–tries to help with the dogs, the door, the disaster unfolding. I realize now he was waiting for the eruption that never came. I didn’t have time to have a fit. Get breakfast. Half day. No lunch to pack. Here’s your clothes. Do they match? Who cares, it’s clothes. Find your shoes. Comb your hair. Drink your milk. Big yellow forty-four rolls up the street. We have four minutes. Got your bookbag? Heavy coat; it’s cold outside. Down the sidewalk. Chat with neighbor who laughs at my morning.

Coffee. No. Couch. Yes. Nap. Finish my dream. What dream? Dogs want out. Dogs want in. Television is so stupid in the morning. Phone rings. This better be good. It is. Nine six five number. This won’t be short. Turn off television. Coffee it is. No nap. Chat. Chat. Chat. It’s good to talk. To connect. Problems and solutions. Questions and answers. Observations. Laughter. Writing. Poetry. Challenges. Chat, chat, chat. Oh jeez, it’s quarter to ten. What can I get done in two hours? And yet we chat some more. Oh hell, it’s quarter til eleven now. Really gotta go. Where? Nowhere. Get something done. I’ll check my mail. Drain the coffee pot. Eat chocolate donuts, the little ones. First I’ll play a game. Don’t get sucked in.

Wait. There’s a story to be told. It must get out. Write. Write. Write. Yeah. I should start a blog. The world would love me. The world does love me. But I have a very small world. Maybe this should be a poem. Don’t know how. How ‘bout real sentences? Nah. Choppy thoughts deserve choppy. Words.

Eleven fifteen. That was pretty quick. Damn I’m good.

Thu 3/12