The buzzer bleats and light peers in disturbs another slumber.
With tossed back sheets, and slide of feet, still in a state of wonder
You walk the hall with squinted eyes and lean and bump and bow,
But reach your goal, with no surprise its second nature now.
In one swift move, you flip the switch and brace yourself for shock,
The luminous infliction comes down like a tomahawk.
But with strident pose, your eyes arise–with effort–to the light,
So you reach and turn the faucet, with a cleansing soon in sight.
Then the steam, which never fails, breaks down your high defenses,
And with it, brings aromas that awaken muted senses;
Success! Youre sharp, youre keen youre clean! You turn the shower off.
You slide apart the nylon screen and grab your terrycloth.
And as you dab and pat, you notice something is awry;
Your shroud, while soft and soothing, just doesnt get you dry!
Now haste has taken precedent and ceased your futile efforts,
You know, with much chagrin, you must employ one of your dry shirts.
So as you sit uncomfortably, you try to make amends;
You tell yourself, persuade yourself: with misery, sympathy lends.
But no amount of solace, even from a sonneteer
Will replace the fateful truth, Its all downhill from here.