Groundhog Day

That vexing phone dancing on the nightstand.

Bvvr. Bvvr. I reluctantly reached it with my hand.

Time to get up and begin Groundhog Day.

Take a shower. Brush my teeth. Comb my hair the same way.

Pass by the familiar stoplight.

Ray’s gas station on the left and Walmart to my right.

Open the office door with the aroma of expected coffee, an extroverted co-worker asks again: “Like some toffee?”

I sit at my lackluster desk and open my email, identically typed complaints from customers. Does it ever fail?

Next day–a new song chirping in the wind.

A jaybird gets to my sleepy ears first–He’s my new friend.

Take a shower. Brush my teeth. Comb my hair with a slight twist.

Pass by a similar stoplight except I notice next to Ray’s another building exists.

Skip into the workplace–there is no coffee brewing

ironically, the gregarious employee who pushes the button is in his chair drooling.

He forgot to ask me for candy that day.

But that’s okay–I am a diabetic anyway.

I perch onto my greenish chair and am surprised to see a bunch of letters.

They are complaints just as before, but at least their handwritten–which is much better.

-C.A. Damitz

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