Man of the house,
king of composure, 
cleanliness,

charity backfired or
minimal return. 

All above or none
at all.

Thoughtful disposer,
I keep a clean cage.

Sweet release,
the relief of sunrise
after too much coffee,

when the hangover is
gone, or punching you
in the face.

My eyes are protected
because this poem is about

sunrise,
and I am of punctual nature.

A disinfectant, or a
procedure that must occur—

an option to defer,
a referee and an ounce of hurt,
yet a comfortable situation.

I never want to get burnt again.
White doves no desire for them

if they cost too
much or manipulate economy.

Beg my pardon, I am
stressed and mean no harm.

Twist my arm, I fold when I fold,
and right now I am holding on.

A surgical mind,
A black hat, perhaps?

A hero, a villain
that is what I am, a man—

Medication.