Personal Platform: Late

This poem demonstrates something we’ve all been through more than a few times in our lives. Whether it’s work, school or anywhere else, when your alarm doesn’t go off, your whole morning tilts and the rest of your day seems off. I hope this poem encapsulates that haywire, mind buzzing feeling of being late.

Late

 

It’s late autumn;                                                                                                                                   the leaves are nestled under tree trunks                                                                                           or half shoved into dirty drains.

The sun hasn’t even risen and the heavy drops of rain are

 rolling down your reflection upon the cold window.

As a result of your alarm deciding to take an un-notified day off,

you are now wearing mismatched socks, have not eaten breakfast

                                    and

your phone battery is bordering on the line of –

death.

Marigold leaves flutter off withering branches                                                                            with every gust of wind and droplet of rain.                                                                                  The soothing sound washes away the noise of car honks and rapid footsteps.

An avalanche of rain greets you the moment you’ve stepped outside

and to make things worse, your umbrella snaps.

                                                                                                                       How?

By the ridiculously, strong gust of wind

that pushes you back a few steps and

flips your umbrella;

the metal claws nearly poking your eye out of course.

So now you have a broken umbrella, are drenched and can feel your

             toes getting damp from the holes in your shoes.

And you just know, you’re going to be

 

late.

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