Morning Light - NOT!
Scott Ensley

Sober, the unfriendly arrival of light.
        My bed cradles me.

Around dawn’s first rocky point I skirt.
        Turn over
        Drift off again. 

The early bird gets the worm, they say.
        big incentive . . . 

Callous driving force nags, 
        yet eyes remain shut.

People talk, cars start,
	      uninvited forces howling in my ears.

Indignant menace, fanatical onslaught.
        I’m not a morning person!
        Bleary day doth harshly come.

I feel like the Grinch
        I’ll stop morning from coming, I think with a smirk.
        Ten all the Who mothers and fathers with befuddled agendas
        and all the Who tabby’s with three-handles waggies,
        and all the Who cabbies blaring their yabbies,
        and all the Who babies, each purple with rabies,
        all of Whoville, will slumber on. 

I clutch my bed, digging deep, but am ripped away by cold reality.
        Numb
        Dull
        Consciousness raps on my brain.

Not just a candidate fro rage, I stomp off immersed in torment, 
        across the cruel hard floor.
        Thank God the shower looms sweet.
        Eternal friend. 
        Another day. 
        Another day. 
                   
                   

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