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Morning Cup of Coffee

The ticking in the morning
Of the clock upon the wall
Recites its litany of call
To the sleepy-headed stranger
Whose eyelids rise and fall
With the passing of the time and its warning.

In a moment he must rise,
With the sleep still in his eyes,
And stagger through the cold to take his shower;
Then he towels off his chest and he towels off his thighs
And he's ready for the raping and the scraping of his razor
And a double shot of hour after hour.
As he tugs in desperation
On the waistband of his pants
And knots his silken tie with just a glance,
The temper of the morning is reflected in his mood
And the sullen way in which he huffs and pants
Toward his morning's aspiration
And awareness of sensation
And the steaming of the coffee in the cup in his right hand.

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