late summer, morning by eva gelman

it’s morning and i am awake 
while the sun rises and my roommate leaves for work
i brew myself some tea and watch the orange sky
the day rests easy before me 
and the home that i’ve come back to 
sleeps under me 
like she sleeps, 
across the universe and 
some waves away. 
today, i will make breakfast 
and take my bike to the repair shop 
down the street. i’ve left it here 
and now, the elements conspire 
with the houseless youth 
to dye the chain red and fill the basket with 
half-empty cups and nearly-eaten fruit. 
i will ask them to take care of it, 
sit on the river’s edge 
and watch the hudson ducks bathe by the flooded skeleton bridge
i’ll write this poem 
on the back of the receipt 
and pick up my bike 
and ride it to my house