‘Slow Start’: A poem by Andrew Bambrick

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Slow Start

Thin white streaks cut across the black sky,
Gradually plum and rose clouds appear.
The golden dawn shines.

THis is the retiree’s alarm clock.
It’s movement time.

Bits of dream fragments float by
Coffee brewing
Pregnant silence
Hope awakened.

Screen on.
Chatter rustles in.
Reflection gives way
To active dismay.

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