The Writing on the Wall

My mornings have been starting late.
So late the curfew’s back in state
Around the time I brush my teeth
And fail to touch my yoga feet.

The tick-tocks of the hanging clocks
Remind me of the banging knocks
Of daily debts that wait for me
And care not for my penury.

I see the number on the wall,
The one I always mean to call,
The one that’s still a sticky note
The therapist’s assistant wrote.

I sigh again and leave it there.
Perhaps tomorrow I will share.
Today I have a lot to do.
A lot to do? Yeah, lot to do.

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