poetry, writing

Slow Mornings

I should be out walking. Yes, I know, I should.

My arm dangles from the edge of the bed, playing with Chance.

He flops on his side, purring, and begging for belly rubs.

It isn’t raining this morning. I really should be moving.

Chance wraps his paws around my arm, wrestling with me.

Get up, get up, he meows. He wants his treat.

So I stumble out of bed. Find my shorts, bra, and shirt.

Shuffling to the kitchen, reaching for his treats.

Here you go, boy. Good job getting me up.

Socks, shoes, and straighten up the bird’s nest on my head.

I’m going. I’m going. Off for my morning walk.

One thought on “Slow Mornings

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