Some kids rise early but not this one.
Even when her father’s icy lakes
crackle like bacon frying
her head of brambled anarchy
stays nestled in his cool pillow.
A boy-dream blankets her
settling in the low spots like fog.
This springald lingers, knowing that breakfast brings
a new reproach for a too skimpy halter
against the budding of April.
© R. Jeffrey Roberts