The alarm clock is a symbol of confinement, right? You’re ushered out of your bed by the polyphonic beeps, unpleasant sounds so you actually rise, and into the day flush with obligations. You employ the alarm clock because you have to be somewhere, or doing something. Without this prodding, your day, maybe your life, would be ruined.
That is how it goes in the working world. That is why I haven’t heard my alarm in many months. I’ve forgotten what an alarm clock sounds like. I’m not even sure mine works anymore. It might be suffering from atrophy. I wake up when my body tells me its rested and ready to go. This has lead a standard rise time of about 8:30. Does that seem late to anyone else?
This is why I have written an ode to my alarm clock, the poor thing…
The Unemployment Poem 3 – Ode to the Alarm Clock
Peering over my pillow
I see your face
peering back at me
late in the morning
In those ragged left over hours
dangling around until noon
I think about how much
I miss your voice
luring me out of sleep
chirping about ample