A Morning Person

by Mary Ruefle

What a beautiful day for a wedding!
It was raining when we buried my mum,
she loved lilacs and here they are,
the lilac lilacs like pendulous
large breasts dripping with dew,
I am enjoying them alone with my
mug of coffee, which I also enjoy
with the intensity of a remark
made in a surgical theatre.
Soon I will vacuum the day,
not a speck of it will remain,
I will suck it up like a bee
at the tit, making a hoopla.
But now it is quiet, hardly anyone
is dressed, not a doggie is walking.
I think flowers enjoy their solitude
in the early dawn before the buzz begins.
I think sprinklers annoy them.
I hear one coming on.
I hate my poems.