The sun comes out and I’m a pessimist
in the morning. I’d rather be happy,
but it isn’t til sunset that my chest

empties out somewhat, and I feel grateful
for the brash cashier I see everyday,
who is so alive. She reminds me
to connect with another person. It’s hard,
especially given quarentine, to reach out
to anyone with my problems:
that man (of course),
and the making-of-dinner,
and the steady march of mornings
I’d rather take at home, feet firmly in bed.