second nature

blasted morning.
dreadful song of the feathered beast.
must I wake
and face the radiation
and be reintroduced
to my senses.
I gather from
the lack of commotion
my options are limited
and without a spark

of conscious effort
I stumble to light switch
cringe, close my eyes
and with my entire clumsy hand
violently close the circuit

if the stars were lies
then a clear night sky
would be nothing more
than a seemingly infinite
television

I love my machines

the rumble of the
spin cycle from below
the chugging of the
water beneath my counter
humming
as my food is prepared
we work together
to make my home presentable
with my machines hard at work
I know I am not alone
I love my machines
and they love me