Newspapers and Coffee

It’s the morning.

They say that whatever happened the day before

goes away the moment you wake up;

it is a new day

and a fresh start.

But I don’t feel elated or new or fresh. I feel heavy.

Just as she had rolled onto the bed

after a day’s work,

so I carried her burden of fatigue even in her absence.

The newspaper is open

and my lungs are choking.

I consume a balanced breakfast of daily news,

stabbings, war, gas prices, horoscopes,

and suddenly I am too full for any more.

The coffee is brewed and the timer has gone off,

but I am not ready to delve into this world I just read about.

Even if every morning were new,

what kind of new is it if every morning a different newspaper

filled with the same violence, greed, and confusion

is mass produced to a starving audience?

If I cannot wake up to you,

then the world is not something I want to wake up to.

I stare at the coffee resting an arm reach away

and I wonder if it is needed only to numb the pain

of yesterday

and to dull the fear of tomorrow.

I guess I’ll always feel heavy and I’ll always be hungry,

because news is not the most filling food,

and because I can never feel fresh or new,

any morning that I don’t have you.


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