Getting up in the morning
he slips on some denim
grabs his lunch, laces up
and out the door
hacking at the window ice
with a plastic axe
Once more to battle
Caressing the dash
he sings sweet promises
of gentleness and good behaviour
just so long as she goes
then twisting the key
crystalline breath hangs in the air
She says yes
He races for a fix
for his tiredness
weariness and short attention
a brew to get him going
an unquestionable daily ritual
a cultural pillar in a sense
Smell!
the bright lights and spotless tables
and the writhing wyrm of stubble and plaid
debating the Leafs and the Liberals
He comes again to his mecca
this and every morning
to be reborn
as he’s often been told
“You’ve always got time”
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