Sunrise

Sunsrise

I hate sunrise.
My mother went mad at sunrise.
That's how I remember it.
One morning she's pouring cornflakes
to her four needy Catholic kids.
Next morning, she's strolling naked
down the sidewalks of SouthSide.
"Nervous breakdown," they said.
"Hormonal imbalance."
I think it was Patsy Cline's fault.
"Crazy", you know.
My mother had met Patsy once.
Backstage. At Kennywood Park.
Patsy had told her,"Dream, sing,
follow your bliss".
Hard to follow your bliss with four
needy Catholic kids in tow.
The dreams soon died.
And I hate sunrise.
My mother went mad at sunrise.