(Good?) Mornings

It's 7 A.M. and the sun says, "Surprise!

I'm here once again to push you out of bed."

I crawl out reluctantly, rubbing my eyes,

Already angry and half drenched in sweat.

Not even awake but I'm starting to smell.

This is no good morning; this morning is hell.

I stumble about – it's so bright I can't see.

My things simply aren't where I know they should be.

I've tripped a few times and I just skinned my knee.

Why must all the furniture bump into me?

Great, dropped my toothbrush. Well, isn't this swell?

What is a good morning? All mornings are hell.

But somehow I plod through it all in a daze

Until I take one little sip from a mug

And like every other day, I'm still amazed

At how this coffee is so much like a hug

The universe sends you to make you feel whole,

To give your day meaning by touching your soul.

Bitter and sweet, maybe just a tad sour,

It fills my senses, it fills me with power

The way I have always trusted that it would,

And suddenly this hellish morning is... good better.

So, if you must say good morning to me,

Make sure it comes with a mug of coffee.