Hi-yo to the Mornin’ Time
I awake when I am finished asleep. Sometimes I hear birds and sometimes the crickets call me. “Davey,” they say, “go back to sleep.” Sometimes I do. Sometimes I don’t. And when that suntop is just peaking over the third story of the apartment across from me, I say Hi-yo to the morning. It feels nice to feel the sun peak. “Davey,” it says, “put your clothes on.” In the daylight I’m reminded of my naked body, which is hard to see in the morning twilight because of my slightly blue tint. I’m not sure why I have this condition, but I think it has something to do with my abnormal number of veins. The doctors said it was fine, but they always looked confused. They reached out to poke me.
So I go in and address my nakedness. “Hello, you,” I say. I salute the tall mirror beside my closet door. It reflects the blue wallpaper behind me so I’m slightly hard to see and have to squint. I see my outline. I see my dally, it’s outline. I think for a moment about being a father. I think about sitting outside with him or her, Jack or Jackie, and drinking coffee as the sun peaks. “Gross, dad,” they would say. I put on some clothes and go sit outside to finish my coffee. “Davey?” The sun says.
“Yes?” I say.
“Marry someone,” he says.
The sun is very hot and very large.