The sound of rustling clothes, the movement of legs echoed from the floor, the escaping of yawns, mini-epidemic, of open mouths, as the son asks me and his sister:
"Do you hear the call before I shower?"
"Yes," the answer.
Then my list, the sorting pf dryer clothes, a pile of rolled towels, the segregation of bundles of socks, and others. The handoff begins, the pass not intercepted as a line from utility to facility if formed.
Next dishes.
A packed lunch as the drone of morning news pounds sensibilities relieved by the good news segment.
A separation as each steps forth on a daily trek.
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Author:
JDB (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: December 8th, 2024 10:25
- Comment from author about the poem: Another entry in the log.
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 35
- Users favorite of this poem: Cheeky Missy
Offline)
Comments2
The mornings are getting busier and busier!!, enjoyed the read
Love it
Glad you do. Thanks.
You're welcome
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