At 8:07 AM on a weekday, nothing is funny.
“Good morning,” sticks in the throat like cold paste oatmeal.
Baleful necessity when faced with February’s frontal assault.
I shudder at your questions about my weekend.
Grit my teeth teetering through a breezy response.
But for the sake of our collective dignity:
Please do not try to be funny.
I’ll share your fluorescent fire.
Be appropriately grateful for the drop ceiling shelter.
For all humanity, let’s not pretend being here is our “first choice”.
Not even on a better day
When the sun rises before me
To start the coffee maker and heat the oven for cinnamon rolls
I choke on secondary embarrassment.
SensibleUnsensible 
