Murphy's Law

Late buzzer,
Or rather
No buzzer at all.
Waken by the gentle
Clanking and clacking
Of morning feet.
And it seems,
Murphy doesn't want me to wake up to-day.

The handle
Is rusted, cracked
From use of time.
Worn by the draining,
Dripping of time.
And it seems,
Murphy doesn't want me to bathe to-day.

The toaster
Has fried out
Disjointed and locked
From a never-ending
Usual routine.
And it seems
Murphy doesn't want me to eat to-day.

The door opens
A paved walkway
Out of a cold slush.
A troupe of flowers
Delicately lightens
The aroma.
And it seems
Murphy doesn't always get his way.