The phone
rings,
the car

next door
backfires,

the newspaper
with yesterday's
worthless morsels
lays  across
the kitchen

porcelain
table.

the morning
surrenders itself
to me.

fifty-plus
years of
a cycle
I embrace
as life.

old wrinkles
pressed
deep in
my fine
tweed suit.

ocean rain
crashing against
my front

door window

like a determined
solicitor trying
to break in
and sell me
what I can't

possibly live
without.

this morning
surrenders
to me,

my two cats
run across
the living room
floor scurrying
for their
next meal.

in the back room

the blonde haired

flavor of
the month
slowly wakes
from her

late night

slumber.

and the
morning
surrenders
to me.

one more
day again.

sunrise to

sunset,


with nothing

in between.