Aubade

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.

Richard Moore

From No More Bottom, Orchises Press, © 1991.

Originally printed in Light Year '88/89.
Reprinted by permission of the author.