Five O’clock

A steady ritual starts at five when the sun barely shines

A somnolent rise despising time’s constant ticking prompt

Make haste, don’t be late, chop-chop, get up

I lay aestheticized

In a numbing malaise, moxie escapes traverse my mind

Til pungent aromas inspire my rise toward a closer destination

I linger, sipping dark-roast indulgence

Til time tick-tocks chop-chop

Prompting a grittier caper along steel rails

With well-tailored companions

Bumbling inaudible tidings

Consciousness buried in modern devices

Streaming a serener existence

These soul-searching moments I partake

With traveling mates

Click-clacking along dark tunnels

Arriving at dusk-to-dawn destinations

Til five when the sun barely shines and the ritual rewinds

Inversely, I arrive at a homier destination

Hoping perchance, tomorrow’s a better day

E. Denise Billups