I might brew a cup of tea,
if I can remember to pull the kettle off the fire
before its hissing wakes up my sleeping boyfriend.

Or, I might nurse this glass of wine
as I listen to the new Bob Dylan
and try to resist the urge to catnap.

All the times I hit snooze on a Monday morning
tells me only disappointment that way lies.

So I stay seated, at attention, as I have at this desk
all day, and the two lights – desk and kitchen counter – I’ll finally switch off
in four hours to crawl into bed.