In the morning
the radio is talking
and I listen and wander.
They talk about
international news,
then local weather, traffic and time
and I listen and wander.
None of the clocks in my house
read the correct time.
That way,
I trick myself into being punctual.

The sun is sitting
on the edge of it's bed,
rubbing it's eyes.
She lays there
uttering grunts of dissapproval
at the idea of getting up.
The radio isn't talking anymore,
but I know the traffic report anyway.
Fucked up.

It's still morning
and I wander around.
Someone jogs past my window
and I guess it's Burt Bacharach
on their iPod,
but it's probably something more akin
to Justin Timberlake.

She's gotten up
and has started the shower.
I'm taking vitamins
and betting myself
that she's laying in the tub,
still trying to snooze,
and she's got the water
way too hot.

She does.

I'll soap up,
take a shave
and dress quickly.
Today I'll dress like an accountant.

There'll be no fresh muffin breakfast.
No glass of cold OJ.
No coffee with half and half,
and no colorfully clad
bouncing girl,
shaking pom poms
and chanting little
militaristic, rhyming poems
about mine
or any other team.
There'll just be
my car and a CD
while I wander
as if I'm in a canoe,
and Laruel Canyon is a slow moving river
with a shit load of
canoes that are
a lot nicer than mine.