Morning Diary

It’s morning, and the air is warm
Beside these waters far and gray;
I really do not care that much
How fast I go, or just which way,
For all of this is strange to me,
Life’s normally so frantic —-
But I have hours now to taste
Beside the wide Atlantic.

My wife and I came here to stay
About a week, a little less,
To focus on each other, and
To ban quotidian duress,
But I’m an early wanderer
And she’s an early reader:
And so I separate so she
Can use this time to feed her,

And I can feed myself, as well,
With listening and writing,
Theses few short days of aimlessness
Without that bane, ‘deciding ‘.
No schedules, clocks or watches, here,
Just waxing and receding
And being glad I’m not at work
Attending one more meeting.

Though those are not that bad, most times.
But still, a change of scenery
Is welcome to the heart and eye
That’s part of the machinery
That makes up daily corporate life.
But you want to talk stressful?
My wife’s home with three kids most days,
And though she’s quite successful

At keeping most her sanity,
Kids one and three and five
Will make you wonder where you are
Or even still alive.
“I don’t know how you do it,”
Are words she often hears said:
And frankly, she deserves the beach
And all the time in bed

She wants and that we can afford.
We drove because it’s cheaper,
And got a nice off-season rate
(It’s normally much steeper)
We paid for this last year, in fact.
She hates to spend much money
On anything for her at all.
The whole thing’s kinda funny —

And yet that’s us. Imperfect, real,
With these few days to live the way we feel.

Author: Beleaguered Servant

Owen "Beleaguered" Servant (a/k/a Sibelius Russell) writes poetry mostly, with an occasional pause to have a seizure.

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