One of these mornings,
I’m going to be abducted by aliens
while I grind coffee in my white bathrobe
with yellow duckies.
One of these mornings,
I’m going to look at my frazzled hair,
vacant gray eyes and blotchy skin,
crack my neck and flush the Prozac down the toilet.
One of these mornings,
I’m going to flip on the radio
and not hear the words “gun” “accident” “death or “fear”
but “peachy keen” “nifty” “swell” and “lollipop”.
One of these mornings,
I’m going to drive to school in an
ice cream truck, eating ice cream and play
duck-duck-goose and hide-n-seek all day.
One of these mornings,
instead of waking up at the crack of dawn
and doing all the things no one wants to do but does,
I’ll just go back to sleep.
Allison Blas is a freshman majoring in journalism.
