Member-only story
Made by my dog
A poem about habits
The Dog’s bark is no longer jarring.
Not at 5am, or 3am, or 2am.
I have evolved over the long lockdowns.
Sleep no longer stir’s or woes temptation.
I rise like a call to prayer,
Before the bells, before the coffee-sunrise,
Sleepwalking, I let the bark out,
Eager to serve, desperate for a head start.
Weapons swing in hand neatly chaperoned by
A small pink bag from the naughties
The chauffeur, who diligently transfers books
From room to room, while I observe
These new habits like a psychopath
Ready to kill at any given opportunity.
To steal more time on the sofa,
Silk nightie and socks as I share myself
Cross-legged
-I need this
A late lesson slow to learn.
Burrowed in my dressing gown, papers scattered
Between my thighs, pen in my mouth.
The lamp on low, yellowing my thoughts.
The woolen blanket draped over my shoulders,
warm and worn with work.
