3 A.M.

I wake at 3 a.m. and climb out of bed
as if it were a tree-house
I lean against the trunk of my dresser drawers
and stumble round the roots
of my discarded laundry.
There isn’t much to see or do at 3 a.m.
unless the toilet can be considered
Interesting in any way.
I offer my opinion on the mundane
nature of existence
even as I complicate every little aspect
of this insanely marvelous life I treasure.
Yoga with the ladies, visits with the boys
letters and drawings and pictures
from the grand-kids,
friends, golden and ripe
as peaches ready to be eaten
and still on the tree.

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