It’s dark

The six-thirty train whistles in the distance
Rending the morning air painfully apart

Cocooned, safe, I rebel against the day
and the train
and the rain
pounding the
glass

Weary, bleary, I make coffee
my caffeinated army
spearing
dragons and ogres and shaking
the sleep from my eyes
and the darkness
from the skies

as the train
and the rain
continue
to
fall

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