Poetry’s Morning Commute

Sit up in bed in the dark.
There it is, or part of it.
Shuffle around the dim room.

It’s like a roof rat scuttling
Overhead, through the maple
Shadows outside the window.

It startles and alarms you,
Forces you to hunt for it,
To make sure it’s not in here

Anywhere, make sure it can’t
Be getting through the cracks,
Doors, or windows left ajar.

Once the sun’s up, and you’ve checked
The whole place, top to bottom,
Sure that any rat’s outside

And not sharing space with you,
That’s it, you’ve done your morning
Commute. Here we are, arrived.