Routine
2:35 am
A sugar-shouldered woman on TV strides towards me
smirking at our national anthem, humming numbers, holding back
3:20 am
I hear knuckles, leather bound, knock against a diner mug-a-joe,
now reaching for his Nokia, the ding of his red-lipped lady
4:07 am
Godammit, my upstairs neighbor moans rising on his bad ankle
He chants to himself as he dresses, already sweating
4:42 am
Olivia Benson’s buh-buh intro, hour of healing wakes, prods me
to switch the laundry, turn the kettle on, wash my morning face
5:15 am
7-11 sustenance, four gatorades in one arm
Campbell’s in the other, I return home to bathe
6:00 am
The night breaks in half, backbends into Tuesday, slathers its coral hands
against my back like Calamine: a pep talk, mail that’s not an ad, a laugh
- Sarah May 2016
Sarah May is an unpublished, but eager poet from the not-as-hick-as-you’d-imagine city of Dallas, Texas. She currently acts as a poetry editor of Marathon Literary Magazine and is a low-residency MFA student at Arcadia University.
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