AUTUMN
MORNING
When
the alarm’s blood curdling cry
caesars
open the womb of the bed
I
am born into the darkness of night.
When
uncomfortable day squints
from
its perch on the western street light
I
open my ears and hear the sound
of
car engines shifting in the direction of work.
When
the sun reluctant with excuses
sticks
it neck out of the east I
close
up my dreams.
I
must make a late start
to
yet another winter.
Copyright Ruth
Hartley 2012 Work in progress.
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