Like breathing out, in
I’ve grown accustomed to the race
makes the day begin
I get up.
The coffee is ready.
Read my Bible.
Read the morning papers.
Drink my coffee.
Then it is off to work.
And I work into our back room.
No morning commute.
No speeding cars.
No trucks.
No cop cars.
No traffic.
No available minutes to sort out my life.
No time to question the great questions.
No audio book.
No music to pass the time.
Like breathing out and in.
After 10 years.
52 weeks a year.
5 days a week.
1 and a half hours a day.
I have spent 162 days on I85.
The drive that makes the day begin.
I don’t miss it.
I don’t miss it one bit.
But it was a big part of something that has gone missing.
Have I grown accustomed to the race?
But I’m so used to hear her say
“Good morning” every day
Her joys, her woes
Her highs, her lows
Are second nature to me now
Like breathing out and breathing in
I’m very grateful she’s a woman
And so easy to forget
Rather like a habit
One can always break
And yet I’ve grown accustomed to the trace
Of something in the air
Accustomed to her face
From I’ve Grown Accustomed To Her Face in the musical, My Fair Lady.
No Haiku For You 