The day breaks like frayed shoe laces
and the situation only gets bleaker from there.
Poems written, bed made, dishes done,
it's eleven AM and the day is shot.
Not to say it couldn't redeem itself.
The mailman could deliver a bag of dead rats.
The food stamp Nazis could drop by
to ensure I am still appropriately thin.
Armies of angry squirrels could mass
outside my door preparing to begin their
drive for world ******* with me.
My cat might finally begin to speak,
albeit in a language I don't understand
or things could get really interesting
and it might just begin to rain.
After all, hope is a rabid dog that dies hard.
But none of these surprises  are very likely.
Physics says that inertia overcomes motion
and we are as rarely strong as our imaginations.
Don't fret, soon enough it will be evening
and you can fall asleep, best part of the day.

  ~mce