[y66]

Early Sunday Morning

by Edward Hirsch

I used to mock my father and his chums
for getting up early on Sunday morning
and drinking coffee at a local spot,
but now I'm one of those chumps.

No one cares about my old humiliations,
but they go on dragging through my sleep
like a string of empty tin cans rattling
behind an abandoned car.

It's like this: just when you think
you have forgotten that red-haired girl
who left you stranded in a parking lot
forty years ago, you wake up

early enough to see her disappearing
around the corner of your dream
on someone else's motorcycle,
roaring onto the highway at sunrise.

And so now I'm sitting in a dimly lit
café full of early- morning risers,
where the windows are covered with soot
and the coffee is warm and bitter.

from The Living Fire: New and Selected Poems, 1975-2010. © Random House, 2010. Reprinted with permission at The Writer's Almanac.

p.s. I used to love motorcycling in the early morning. Never got into riding 2-up though which was fine since my wife, who has red hair, prefers to sleep in.