Watching the sunrise

Over the tree tops

Of the eastern skies

As it spills forth gold

Across this 6 am world

Is supposed to be beautiful…

And it is a sight to behold

Beneath the newborn blue

But it’s also a reminder

Of an inability to sleep in

On a coveted Saturday morn

As the cat begs for food

And the brain whurs awake

Too early for its own good

So here we are on the balcony

Writing poetry

While watching psychopaths

Jogging in the cool air

Instead of dozing beneath sheets

Where I should be