The day breaks
Early in my house
The lights come on
Long before it's dawn,
Turning in late
From the burglar-hour shift
I lie on the floor
Like a traffic island
Trying to sleep
Through rush hour,
Scurrying feet
Run around me
Leap across me
I even get a kick or two
Whether deliberately
Or inadvertently
I do not know,
Soon voices rise like
In road rage
With the lunch not packed
The laces missing
And the clock hands
Moving inexorably
The unmoving sleeper
Is somehow blamed
For the glitches,
Is roughly woken up
Forced to move
To another room
To chase his own night.
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