Gets The Worm

He’d wake me up every morning. Hacking up something in the sink. Stirring his coffee, the spoon ringing off the mug.  Shoving the toaster’s latch like he was cocking a shotgun. Humming along to radio. Stomping around with his work boots on.

I couldn’t get back to sleep. Ever. So I’d wait until I heard the door slam, and his truck start. Then I’d get up. Sometimes, he would have left the coffee machine on and I’d have a cup or let it boil down to a black sludge.

That way he’d have to clean it when he got home.

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