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Self Portrait MAG
Every day,
He wakes up,
Someone screams something
about being late.
A feeling of monotony.
He sits up in bed,
squinting his eyes,
the channel came in fuzzy.
He stumbles into the bathroom,
struggles with the faucet.
The hot water,
rains
down
like a tropical rain storm,
He comes out of the morning daze.
He rushes all morning,
getting dressed and
eating are all a blur,
only to get to school
thirty seconds too late,
and ill prepared for class.
If he can just make it to lunch,
if he can last until 2: 00,
the weekend's almost here.
Hang in there says his mother
Don't give up, don't let go
like the dying leaves of fall.
As he drives home,
He notices
winter's creeping nearer.
He misses the long warm days of summer.
He wishes he could fly away
like the birds migrating south.
Leaves cover,
the finish line of the day,
his driveway.
Squirrels scamper by
so busy
preparing for snow
not noticing anything,
especially the cars,
that take away their chance at winter.
He thinks
as he enters his house,
what if he could hibernate?
Once warm inside,
it starts to flurry
no big deal, he thinks,
But a big deal to the animals.
He turns the heat up a little.
Food stocked neatly in the cabinet
his refrigerator full
his dog scratches his bowl,
then hides a bone for later use.
He can see the world,
and the nature it's made up of.
He knows it's trying to tell him something,
but he doesn't know exactly what.
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