Monday Morning

Sometimes it just shows up
this reminder to love the ordinary—
Puppy asleep, my feet as his pillow
His feet chasing dream rabbits
while I write my way awake
and remember to say thank you
for the noisy day ahead
and this little cup of quiet

Postscript:
might as well laugh
when the first test of thankfulness
Immediately Arrives—
the way you press a finger
into the fragrant loaf of bread
to see if it’s cooked—now,
the kitchen heater with
the broken fan and a definite
scent of old mice kicks on
to remind me—this day also holds
an expensive repair bill
Still happy? Still think this Monday
Is a poem? Yes. Yes, I remember
and yes, I do.