On certain mornings,
when Fate and the
God of Schedules
conspire to wink at me,
after I drag my
ass out of bed
and rinse the sourness
from my mouth
and store the hard plastic
device which,
dentists tell me, protects
my teeth from
night grinding,
and after I
have a good, long,
blessedly relieving
piss, and after I
wash down the
two pills which
middle age and
modern medicine
have decreed that I require,
and the one
vitamin tablet which,
like a lucky rabbit’s foot,
I take on faith,
I crawl back into the
(sometimes still
warm) bed
and sleep