|
January, 7 am
January, 7 am
I awake with memory of the night’s storm,
the rush of the winds hush me
further into the pillow,
in perfect peace under the down
while three sphinxes purr hungry,
puzzled at my immobility
The prime minister is comatose
and today, for the first time,
the news reluctantly informs,
he is likely to remain so
Five invincible youths
crashed into a lamppost
in the country’s south
and now lie in hospital
souls floating precarious
between strife-filled earth
and blessed heaven
Grateful for my health,
heedful of the cats,
I relinquish the comfort
of the down blanket
and arise to turn on the morning
|
