Glenn Pape
Aubade
There are mornings
when I could destroy the sun —
just reach out the bathroom window
and crush it in my hands.
The black mold on the shower curtain,
the overdue check downstairs waiting to be mailed,
our two neglected alarm clocks going off at once
as we pass each other in the hall;
can't we just turn around and go back to bed?
There's nothing in the world that matters as much
as what you're wearing
beneath that loose blue robe.
Bio
I am a recently retired, late middle-aged man living with my wife and some kind of loveable Terrier mutt, who looks like a cross between Bernie Sanders and a loofah. We are all fine and comfortable in an old house in Northeast Portland, Oregon. Although I was first captured by poetry (reading and writing it) in childhood, it was only upon reaching my mid-fifties that I put any effort into submitting my work. In the past few years I have been published in the North American Review, The Sun, Poet Lore, Pulp Literature, and The Rhysling Anthology, among others. My hobbies include cheering for my favorite roller derby team (the Break Neck Betties), and riding the roller coaster of victory and failure by following the Chicago Cubs.