The unhappy people leave their beds
Neat. Covers flat. Corners straight.
It’s not like they would falter
In their aim when they throw
Early morning water into their eyes
To bring themselves awake.
If it were me or you, we’d never see
The crumpled sheet
The pillow askew
After all, the shoes we hurry on
Our impatient feet
Are used to having
to wake up to.