Rude Awakening

a chaotic angular skyscape

silhouettes the threadbare watercolour wash

of charcoal grey, that pales and

rinses to a thin milk blue

the colour of cold skin,

across the silent city

a fresh newly-minted dawn

nudges rich salmon-pink streaks

skyward in celebration

of my first yawn of the day,

I am not ready for this splendour

and stand at my window, disbelief

hanging guiltily from my open mouth,

I heed the shepherd’s warning, and stumble

to my ablutions, my feet like ice

bristling on the tiled floor,

water abruptly slaps me awake

and I submit, the rubicon crossed

the Tuesday bugle calls, awake!

absentmindedly I see the foolish pigeon

before I hear the sickening thud

its brief voyeurism at the window

its tumble into the pruned rose bed

its final blank wide-eyed corpse

tiny breast feathers shiver

an apologetic Mexican wave

*

© Graham R Sherwood 02/22