woken up at half seven
by a door slam out to her world
raging for lack of control
even though I’m due up too
as the night’s turrets fade
showers rinse and brekkie fills
before those hours ahead again
of procedure and patience
then, the second hand makes it,
gloved and scarved, now reversing
to microwaved, televised freedoms
spiralling into action replays
the eye lids easing up
pillows warming
colour upon clouds splashing
before another slam.