Routine

The morning is humid with the subtle patter
Of undisclosed necessities and rain.
The same headlines sit at the kitchen counter
Beside stale crumbs, old bread, and anticipated coffee stains.

The walk to the corner is quick, immediately over,
There and gone again, another fix of caffeine
Too early we clock in, too late we stay
Too many other minutes spent
Too many thoughts away.

There is nothing new except another morning,
Another second gone cold
And the first one whiled away.