aayoungmy fears are hidden at home in my onion knife
as I drink coffee that tastes like David Mamet
left it standing
downtown on a Tuesday morning
during a plague
somehow that proves
there are things I don’t regret
while we pretend to have enough choices left
the way a crumbling sidewalk shows us
dandelions will continue to grow
on the strength of their convictions
there is no escaping it
the way everything is amplified
laid bare by a monday morning
shampoo stinging
cell phone ringing
the national public radio announcer’s voice is deeper
the crosswalk woman is laughing louder
your coffee is hanging up
missing posters for cream
matt lauer looks like a mole rat
you wear your clothes like a first marriage
and during your commute in
you force yourself to forget
what you wanted
in the first place
her morning baptismal
standing in the shower
hard water streaming over head
travel mug grasped religiously
in her hands
as if left over vespers are being given
from the night before
thinking
she’s been drinking
smoking
eating
writing
reading
sleeping
way too much
but not fucking enough
and tomorrow she has to be in Cleveland
5:30 in the morning
beside myself
belly twisting
nothing seeming right
i revert to my childhood
the sure morning routine
of my stepfather
turn on the radio atop the refrigerator
700 WLW no other station will do
make a pot of coffee
whisk the batter in a yellow plastic bowl
and fry pancakes
as aunt jemima stands by the stove
with a syrupy look in her eyes
and i think he does not know
how many times
this ritual saved my life