The alarm sang
reveille
so I cracked out of
bed,
while the cumbersome melody
echoed twice
through my head
I inhaled some
caffeine
to make yawning
less frequent;
I set out on
routine
sure today would be different.
The sky was
thick.
The autumn
morning missed.
The birds were
quick.
(For once, the
squirrels weren’t pissed).
The joggers
were out
down a cobblestone
street—
a roundabout route
for this spring
like retreat.
Some overzealous
student tour guide
led a prospective
mass around,
with a school spirited sense of pride
to share a history
renowned.
I heard some
high-pitched wooden flutes
drift through from
right downtown.
Today, for
once, the grass was green
instead of
yellow-brown.
Petals of a
dogwood tree bunch
streamed years of
cobalt sky;
the rightly cause for picnicked lunch
and classes held
outside.
Just then the
crude wind spoke
amid my rendezvous
as scents of redwood oak
and crisp air
filtered through
I fought the
beauty face to face
throughout my
aimless roam;
then stopped and said “I hate this place”
and justly wandered home.