There is little movement in the early hours,
lifeblood flows slow like a trail of tree sap
on a northern pine. Coffee is the cure
for the morning which follows the restless night.
Midday brings a false energy, fueled by caffeine, sugar
and the rush of adrenaline fed ideas. The impossible
is contemplated, and often attempted, the pace furious,
the goal unclear but ahead. The tea is sweet and iced.
Sometime later, when the afternoon rays are brightest,
a sense of doubt steals momentum, decisions are
second guessed as the day is reviewed. Changes of
direction and a more traditional tea are considered.
Dusk and the dark which follows throw shadows
on a already murky path, the culmination of choices
leading to a congratulatory beer, celebratory champagne,
or dejection poured out with whiskey on the rocks.
for her Tuesday prompt Margo Roby asks us to ‘metaphor our poems’. She said nothing about using the world’s longest title.