early morning sounds: a poem

I just want to sleep in.
that’s all I ask of today.
can’t even get that.

outside my sliding glass window,
a pair of pigeons is going at it.
they have built a nest up
in the corner of the eave.
my dog barks at them as they fly off, startled.
I have known about it for a while,
but I haven’t the heart
to dislodge them and their young.
I’ve almost been evicted a few times,
and I’m grateful to have a home.
home is where the heart is
and
do unto others and all that.
they repay me with messy
white droppings
and loud morning coos.
coo coo cooooooo!

(I wish it was rent money)

somewhere a car door slams.
the engine revs,
the engine rattles,
the engine roars
and disappears.

the dogs scratch again.
scritch scritch scratch.
always a-scratchin’.
my floor looks like a giant lint roller.
more hair on the ground than
dust and dead skin cells
no matter how often I vacuum.

my wife shifts in the bed,
rustling the covers, and
crinkling the sheets.

then:
the vrrmmm of a text
followed by
a yawn,
a sigh,
a click of the phone,
and videos played thereafter.

our screen door is banging.
my neighbor is playing
loud hip hop music
while washing his car.
there is the agita-inducing discord
of a weed whacker
singing against
unwanted green trespassers
who took up roots
in someone’s front yard.

some people
just don’t get
the idea of sleeping in.

and now I have to pee.

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This is a poem from my book bearing the burden of existence, available on Amazon.