Monday Morning Poem by Sally Plumb Plumb

The quick tick
of a fast clock
passes time hurriedly
to make sure
she rises suddenly
before she is awake.

The kettle was
rumbling its heat,
neatly spitting
its overfill
onto the kitchen
window sill.

The toaster jumped
loudly with clouded
dead crumb,
and marmalade clung
to the base of the jar
whilst the radio screamed
too loudly by far.

She scratched her head
and murmered 'what hell,
if I'd slept in this Monday
all things would be well'.