The dogs are barking,
Covering up the morning.
The birds sing on,
As is their daily custom.
And though I've never seen a ghost,
I'm sure many are driving,
Off to work, off to haunt,
While the sun is still rising.
I start my day like all the rest,
Killing an alarm with hate.
There's a fifty-fifty chance I'll wake,
To the sound of a lawnmower 12 inches from my head.
I'll ignore that coffee exists,
Brush my teeth with hope,
And confine myself to my chambers,
Like a wizard or a hermit,
Until the sun decides to die again,
And I am forced to fall dead,
Under my comforter and sheets.