Another Thing to Hate

A tumble weed rolls by and the dust is kicked up by a gust. It's quiet.

I stare down my enemy, teeth snarling.

I whisper the words, "Don't you dare."

But the flashing red numbers mock me,

and that pasty white plastic, so putrid and vulgar.

The serene, wonderful quietness will be interrupted, maybe.

For a few seconds I wonder, perhaps it is broken

perhaps I don't have to get out of bed.

But a wave of sound hits me.

Same old Bee Jee's beat startles me awake like an icy cold slap.

And I am helpless save for a lousy 7 minutes

my snooze button grants me.