Late

Window dark; upon the night-stand
A clock shows five a.m.
The sleeper rolling over.
A snore is heard again.

A whistle at the station
The pinkish glow of dawn.
A roar of train-set engines
The six-fifteen has gone.

A yawn. A stretch. Awoken
By sun-beams bright and broad
A swear-word from a bedroom.
Seven — and not aboard!

A scramble through the smartphone
For bus and car instead
And haste for 8 o’clock tonight,
Three hundred K’s ahead.

With apologies to Henry Lawson

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