A gentle but urgent folk song
on the radio.
Burning in the throat,
but not from an urge to sing along.
Closing my eyes to waste time —

I know I was supposed
to do something this morning
that would get me up
and mildly startle me, make me listen,
tug a shrug of surprise
from me; but

I lost it when I closed my eyes
and refused the sight of the living room
that looks so much like it always does —
if it would be different, even
a little, I could cry out — but it’s the same music
and the same sad scratchy throat
and me sitting heavily down again —

yes, here I am again, starting
the same day again for the
umpteenth time
to the same little angel dance,
nothing special; again,
my eyes are closing
and running over.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
onward,
T