Thursday, November 11, 2004

Catching a Wave ...

Down the avenues

of my early-morning

mind zooms a flood

of crowded, honking

thoughts that seek

a place to park.

I’m too tired

to direct traffic,

too stressed

to sort them out.

That must wait

till later, tongue

losing its taste

of suede, on the

verge of talk.

But then they’re

gone, not a thought

in sight, not a word

remaining of that

early-morning roar,

so here I sit,

listening, waiting

for the next wave.

Perhaps tomorrow.

© 1999

(originally published in Capper's)

I don't think I was intended to be a morning person. Mornings have always been a struggle for me.

I know, I know. Morning is the best part of the day for the writer. Other concerns have not begun to intrude. The house is quiet. The brain is rested, ready to rev. Here's a whole new day beckoning.

But for me it's ... well, it's just morning. It takes me a little while to build some momentum.

I roll over, get one foot on the floor, then the other. I stand. I go teetering off in the general direction of the keyboard. I find the switch, flick it on.

By this time I have both eyes open. Things are starting to come into focus. And then, look out. Oh, look out! I'm starting to roll.