SOME MORNINGS EVERYTHING IS A POEM
Bailey and I dog a bit in bed,
nuzzling and sniffing like lost friends.
Yesterday’s white socks, one halfway in-
side out, hopscotch to the wicker basket.
The Globe on the porch delivers an opinion
piece on my wearing pajamas outdoors.
Without irony, the commuter train sings “Good
Morning, America” despite the disappearing blues.
In my palm, the gold jellybean of fish oil
conjures an Easter basket, complete with green
cellophane. As you catch an extra hour,
your sleep keeps quiet company over coffee.
Sunlight splashes iridescent in the sink,
inviting me to paint.
I have half a chapbook
by the time I brush my teeth.
……
This poem is from the book How to Write a Bench by David Hummon (Finishing Line Press), and can be found at https://www.finishinglinepress.com/product/how-to-write-a-bench-by-david-hummon/
