Leave me, dawn! I'm in wretched fettle.
I swear I'm made of some base metal,
zinc, say, or lead.
I'll stay in bed.
I'm too sad-souled
for the day's gold,
too lowdown, and my taste too bitter.
So bug off, daylight, keep your glitter.
No More Bottom, Orchises Press, ©
Originally printed in Light Year
Reprinted by permission of the author.