Catalogue

Sometimes I wake and wish I had the contents of the day
Wrapped and sealed in tiny drawers nail deep in dust
That I could rise, scratch my head, then choose which way
I'd like the day to be; I'd pull on a handle red with rust
To find a package labelled 'sun', then open it to see
Beyond my drawn curtains, golden light suddenly pierce the gloom
I'd find a container reading 'winter', and watch birds flee
South, shocked at the change of season, the too early doom
Of summer. Still drunk from sleep, I'd open a bag of 'happiness',
Then laugh out loud and bound downstairs
Scamper through the streets, mind high on drug-like gleefulness
To many stares and furrowed-browed glares
Or instead I'd sigh and try a pinch of misery
Sit in a corner with my head in my hands
While hot tears well from each reddened eye
And moaning winds whip my wintry lands
But how could one live without the dream
That around the corner of some soot-stained street
Might appear a face on which hopes gently gleam
Unexpected, uncatalogued, a warmth in the sleet