Young Writers Society

I wrote this poem at around seven in the morning, when I realized that all my mornings start with the exact same routine, down to the minute I get downstairs. 6:19. It's like my body knows what to do but my mind hasn't quite gotten the hang of it and can't get out of that stupid routine. So I sat down and wrote this poem. I know it needs work, but I like the idea. Lather me with crits, rinse and repeat.

Monotony

Gotta get home,
Off this gray stretch
Of asphalt,
Off this pathetic excuse
For a highway,
Away from the roar
And grind of cars
Away from the angry drivers
Flicking fingers
At kids only just
Old enough for
A permit.
Gotta get home
Pull the Chevy
Into the two-car garage,
Slam the door,
Struggle to carry
My briefcase, my keys,
My travel mug
Sloshing with
Cold coffee
From this morning,
Drop everything
On the kitchen floor,
Too tired to
Give the kids
The love they need.
Pretend to enjoy dinner,
Up to bed,
Try to focus on the TV,
Slip into dreamland,
And then,
What seems like
Seconds later,
The alarm sounds,
Up again,
Grab the travel mug,
Kiss the kids,
Back on the road.
Gotta get home,
Don’t know why.