7am Sugar Fix

A watery dawn breaks over the rooftops 

as I stumble through the concrete maze. 

I hear the cars begin to rumble awake

and I find a place for my mind to refuel.

Inside footsteps shuffle, fridges hum, 

it smells of newspapers and petrichor.

There’s a flickering yellow strip light,

and the noodles remember lockdown, 

but then I hear “morning,” in an easy lilt, 

and i see a beaming man, stocking milk.

We are on opposite sides of the clock,

both fighting sleep to make ends meet.

The aisles are stacked with nostalgia 

there’s teacakes and macaroons galore

And chatting away at the till I wonder

What we’d do without the corner store.