11 October, Monday: Not by choice, my alarm lets me sleep through all its noise until 8:30. That’s every day, not just today, and then I smell coffee. It starts brewing at 8. Perhaps it’s the coffee that wakes me up. I think coffee is supposed to do that. A few stretches, and I shower. Brush my teeth. Then dress. I dress after I clean my teeth because my electric toothbrush dribbles down my front. Sometimes it sprays all over the mirror. I make my way downstairs to the kitchen. He’s already eating his oatmeal. Do you want an omelet for dinner tonight, I ask him. He replies with an unenthused okay, so I open the fridge for inspiration. I decide it’s an omelet. The house is quiet in the morning; neither of us like bad news first thing, or loud noise. He’s rotating his shoulder against his neck; it’s been aching all weekend after he trimmed trees on Friday. Have you taken something for that, I ask. He hasn’t. Not yet. I bring him two tablets. He doesn’t need water – he could swallow a broom without needing anything to wash it down. I empty the dishwasher. He reads the motoring section of the Sunday paper. It takes days to read the whole thing. The neighbour up the street is getting a new kitchen today. The street is blocked with a lorry and four white vans (a plumber, an electrician, and a decorator). And then I notice through the kitchen window that the fox has been digging up my big pots of begonias again. Soil spread across the patio, and the begonias chewed into bits. I didn’t know that begonias were edible. I look at my watch. It’s already 10 o’clock. Time flies.
squirrels in the laurel
wind chimes in a fitful breeze
a thin grey drizzle
Written for Miz Quickly’s Day 11: Monday. Poetic Form: Haibun. Photo by Geran de Klerk on Unsplash. Shared with @Experimentsinfc #APoemADay on Twitter ©Misky 2021
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