The wet slobber of a warm tongue brushes my face
As I peer off the side of my bed and my alarm
is still another dream away from count down
the empty smile of my hound dog mocks me
As I step foot upon the ground and dozens more
come running down the hall as their claws scratch
away the clear coating of the hard wood
 
The telephone rings in the kitchen as I walk in
the smell of breakfast only my mother could make
An apple today, or make a slice of banana
The coffee pot boils day old sludge that runs
down my cup when I had asked for milk
 
I sit up at the table opening my eyes
my mother talks to the silent end of the cord
and five more dogs join us sitting properly
paws off the table
another typical hungry morning
As I leave for the bus stop with nothing but
a coffee stain and dozens of dog hairs

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Some poets followed by M. Swaney...

Mary Oliver CLEMENTINE