He Imagines Her Mornings

He imagines her mornings,
and wonders how they play.
When the alarm goes off,
is she the type to leap right up
and and start her day...
Or does she hit the snooze
a few too many times,
and in her bed she stays?

Does she awake with a buzzing,
a ringing,
music
or with sunlight?
Does she recall her dreams,
did she get up at all in the night?

Does she awake with promise
and a song in her head,
or does she roll over,
and face the morning with dread?

Does she enter the shower,
or was she clean the night before?
Does she toss and turn,
or does she soundly snore?

Does she trip over laundry
and stumble for her clothes;
or are they sorted by color,
stockings and panties in delicate rows?

Does she linger over coffee
and the morning newscast;
or does she chug down a protein shake
and call that her breakfast?

Does she wear heels with joy,
or sneakers or flats?
Does she hold the mirror in contempt,
for in it she feels too fat?

Does her bed get made,
or do sheets get pulled down
like a waning tide?
Does she glance at the pillows and the creases
and long for someone else
to wake up beside?

Does she pass out any kisses
in the morning,
to a cat,
a lover
or child?
Is she harried,
or peaceful
when she notices her nails
should be filed?

Has she planned her day
and all that must be done?
Does she think just of the weekend
and the promises of fun?

He wonders these things
in a blink of an eye,
thinking of her and her morning routine
and then he wonders...why?