I don’t write much poetry and am not sure I am any good at it, subjectivity aside, but this morning felt like a poem rather than prose, so I tried to capture it as such. I kept on thinking about the day and saying to myself, it’s not a metaphor.
Poem on July 4
I woke up too damn early
Bleary but the birdsong drew me out
I almost laughed
At the boisterous cacophony
Like an untrained kids chorus of chaos
Or a hundred virtuosos trumpeting their own solos
This morning, the birds in unruly unison
Woke me up
Matt Hartley 