Lie in bed,
eyes closed.
Read the weight
of the to do list
written
between the lines
on the meaty places
of your rib cage.
Mesh tighter
your lashes.
But dawn
still streaks through.
You cannot judge
the viscosity
of her intent.
She comes
(fearful? hopeful?)
tapping at you lightly,
as if knocking on the hull
of an upturned boat,
tentative,
sounding for a survivor.
You want to answer,
tell her
you never intended
to be so riveted
inside yourself,
never meant to be
that person. The one
who says No
to the morning.
Rodd Whelpley is the secret poet in residence at the Illinois Municipal Electric Agency, where he also runs an electric efficiency program for 33 cities in the state. His works have been published in such magazines as theChagrin River Review, One Sentence Poems, Aethlon, Allegro Poetry Magazine, Long Dumb Voices, Eunoia Review, Spillway, Right Hand Pointing, Naugatuck River Review and Tinderbox Poetry Journal.
–Art by Ashley Holloway