Lark Was a Night Owl

You’re a creature of habit
Whose principal habit seems
To be changing your habits.

At the cafe, they know you.
You’re a regular. Then you
Disappear. At the corner

Bar they knew you, too, and at
That familiar gas station.
You had the same thing for lunch

For years and then never ate
Lunch at all ever again.
You wrote notes in a neat hand

On a folded paper kept
In the same pocket decades,
And then you stopped taking notes.

One day you’ll notice breathing
Is a hell of a habit.
Bartender asks where you’ve been.