Man about house,
king of composure,
cleanliness, charity-

backfired or
minimal return.

All above or none at all—
thoughtful disposer,

I keep a clean cage.

Like a sunrise after
too much coffee. When
hangover is gone,

or punching you
in the face.

Eyes protected, because
this poem is about sunrise,

and I am of punctual nature,
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.

what cure can be found in a band-aid but to slowly heal,
be it a small enough wound.

A large disaster, a surgical mind,
a black hat, perhaps?

Hero, villain, that is what I am,
a man—

Medication.