An Ode

Damn you, eight a.m. appointment, the bane of my existence.
In bed too early, I toss and turn.
Fumbling at the clock at only one.
Again at three, afraid the alarm is unset.
At five, the voice in my ear is worth the wakefulness
But not the loud silence at six.
Or six-ten.
Or -twenty.
Or -thirty, when I give up, tired and yawning and oh so grumpy for coffee.
But now?
Oh, my teeth are so clean.

Those are a Pobble Ode. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee.