Aware
I killed a bug that wasn't there
And brushed my leg
Along the sand
Rubbing dirt with outstretched hand
I heard the mower
Someone snoring--
No, more like a pig exploring--
Felt the poke
Of knees, cold toes
And coughing, snorting from a nose
I rubbed my eyes with gritty fists
Rubbed out the dreams
Unfogged the mists
And rose from bed a little sad
No dreams, no rest
The night I had
Was no more restful
Than a Zumba class
But my fatigues, like hours, shall pass.
Kudos to Darrell B. Nelson at Project Savior for unintentionally giving me the third line of the poem. I hope all of you slept better than I have lately. This waking up between 3 and 5 every morning is starting to wear on me. If only I can figure out why... or at least make myself get to bed by 9. I did finish my Zumba instruction training, though, and that means I am now a certified instructor... now to get my whole class routines together, and start teaching!
