I wake up at 4:30 a.m. feeling like a cemetery survivor.
I shovel breakfast cereal into my mouth before I head out to my 1st shift shop job.
I hop in my car
Mumford and Sons, along with every other good band the radio ruined,
plays in and out as I drive.

I leave my war zone of a job.
I instantly get a text, like magic,
from my pregnant girlfriend asking me to go to the store.
I look for all the random nonsense she requests and
go to the register and lock eyes with the cashier, the woman with whom
I shared my first kiss
It's likely she doesn't remember me, if she does she doesn’t show it.
She hands me my carefully bagged groceries and I quickly leave.

I walk in the front door to see my little brother sitting,
watching the NCAA final four in our
so-large-it's-practically-earth-quake-proof recliner.
My girlfriend already asleep on the couch next to him,
her salmon colored shirt stretched over her swollen belly.
I softly kiss her forehead
Then set the groceries down on the table.
I lean over the kitchen sink to just breath and find temporary peace

Until the next 4:30 a.m.