morning dawns with the same half-hope
that happens every year that this year
will be infinitely different from the last

here it is the end of the day dreaming
that there is a message waiting for me
after the long silence of the work day

there at last the phone rings and I hear
her gentle voice calling from far away
“hello – how did your day go…”

she pauses in wonder at my voice
quickly mumbles ‘sorry wrong number’
yes indeed – isn’t it always?

It is a February challenge to myself – to write novel poetry: One-a-day.