WHERE ARE MY SOCKS?

Chuy leads the pack.  Not awake.   Eighteen eyes.  Waiting.  Not yet.
Clamor and climb.  Waiting.  Not ready.  
The cafeteria is closed.
It's Five AM.

Five.  Back to bed.

Another hour.  Feet pawing my hair.
Eighteen eyes.  Waiting outside.
Chuy calls for back-up.  Miranda picks up the rear.  
Strand by strand my hair kneads into the pillow.

Eighteen eyes.  Waiting outside.  Not yet.  
Clinging to my bed.  Clamor and climb.  
Guys, the cafeteria opens at six.

The floor is cold.  Where are my socks?  
Jelly sits on my pants.  I need a sweater.  
Get the paper.  Two sips of coffee.
Guys, the cafeteria opens at six.

Outside, howling.  
Where are my socks?  The floor is cold.
Chuy leads.  Sydney at the door.  
My brain is idle.  Coffee.  My paper.  
My socks, where are my socks?

Eighteen eyes, eight stations.  
Someone left out.  
One paw?  Koala?  White ears?  Banana Nose?  Peanut?  
Build another unit.  

Guys, the cafeteria opens at six.
Five thirty.  Floor is cold.  
Empty Clorox jug.  Cut a hole.  
Wire thru handle, around the cap.  
Eighteen eyes. 

Guys, the cafeteria opens at six.

Chuy mewing.  Orange boys on the counter.  
Miranda watching sixteen eyes.
Where are my socks?  

Fill the stations.  Corn, peanuts, seed.    
They approach my hand, I’m  wary.  
Angelo.  Farina.  South Paw.  
Clamor and climb.  Corn everywhere. 

My feet are cold.  Where are my socks.  
Chuy and gang pace and mew.  

Guys, cafeteria opens at 6.
Argh!  The floor is cold.

Newspaper is damp. 
Where are my socks?

EVERY RUN IS A WIN.

EVERY DAY HAS ITS OWN BAG OF TRICKS

TSUNAMI Miami

COPYRIGHT 2013 Jacquie Dodes-Walter

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