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August 24, 2020 Poetry

Ode to My Alarm

Eric Wang

Ode to My Alarm photo

which is not a signal
but a storm warning 
for the hurricane
i’ll become today
all electropop and sex
anthems in gale-force rotation
blowing through this town 
its sweaty business suits
and belt buckles
worn to the gut
squeezing tightly
the breakfast sandwich
my storm name:
hurricane mcgriddle
sweet and savory
wind burped glut
unabashed high-caloric tempest
spitting meat grease
a bit tumultuous
-ly too much
until the 11 o’clock foodnap
but o let me have this  
the undying verve
of the robotic 
rooster’s call 
the morning siren’s 
song and her showy solo
and let me
the blessed privilege
of hearing a voice 
on my waking
though i know
it won’t 
always be like this 
though i know the fingers 
swept across 
the phone’s face
like wind
to silence it
to unlock and beckon the day
will also be 
one day
the ones to brush close 
the eyes
of mother and father
and brother maybe and
some friends too
if they’ve got no one else
and i won’t be a hurricane then
but the gentle 
beach breeze
upon the half-shorn sandcastle
by the lonely scuttler
on the best days
i sometimes believe
that these final acts of touch
won’t be like the silencing 
of alarms
but the setting of some 
that wake my beloveds
to a choir
no no
an up-and-coming pop group of angels
dancing in the crackling light
of cumulonimbus clouds
with a habit of belching
thoroughly filled with the heavenly
of breakfast sandwiches



image: Fatema Enayath