7
a.m.
by
Rachael Webster
rachaelangelawebster@gmail.com
My feet are still
confused
by sleep and there
are dog walkers
stomping all over
my subconscious
with their big,
bright wellies
and I want my walk
back
but they are
gatecrashing
my world,
my words
and the only phrase
I can muster is
for them and it’s ‘good
morning’ and
now I have wasted
oxygen as well as thought.
And look –
I am wasting
energy too as I
pretend to like
their dog
while it flicks
away
any
remnants
of inspiration
I may have had
with its
stupid
happy tail.
©2010 Rachael Webster
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