6 a.m.

excuse me, i —
the jangle of a ukulele
wafts into my dreams
as i drift, unwillingly
back toward consciousness
— have a question, that will —
i pry one eyelid open
then the other
and make a slow-motion leap
out of bed
— make us awkward —
to hit snooze
i stumble back, pull the covers
’round my ears, roll over
and shut my eyes
hoping for forty more winks
in the eight minutes
before the ukulelist
once more pours his heart out
into my sleepy ears