Saturday Morning

Saturday Morning

A cacophony of alarm clocks in each room
Buzzing or beeping met with outstretched arms
Blind-slapping "off" buttons.

Sounds of morning life are slowly crescendoing to pleasant pitch.
Chickens are clucking in the yard, clamoring to be uncooped.
The house dog’s tail wags a rhythmic thumping of the hard-wood floors,
      Slowly picking up tempo as dawn’s dimmer switch rises brighter.
The house joists themselves creak awake as they expand with the
      Temperatures of the solar appearance.

But the beds stay filled with the slowed breathing of
Still slumbering bodies,
Blankets nudging up necks,
Heads burrowing deeper under blankets,
Stealing minutes more of sleep,
A few more minutes.
Eyes closed, but pupils still adjusting dilation
Under their lids to the emerging daylight.
Just a few more minutes, please.
Please.

Today this house will not wake early.
It’s Saturday.