This poem was accepted for publication in an anthology called "A Celebration of Young Poets" and is a finalist in the competition run by the publishers of that book, so I don't know how long it will be okay for me to leave it up here. I've made the changes that I made to the final version of the poem, however, and will leave it up as long as no one tells me I need to take it down.

Sunrise

they made decaf in the mornings
pouring it into paper cups
(we don't use styrofoam around here)
and sipping it outside through pursed lips as the sun rose

they talked about alicethroughthelookingglass philosophy
the tower of babel and whether Karl Marx had the right idea all along
and at the end of it all they said that it was
best not to know too much

and they said they weren't religious and
not superstitious really
(you can't get a straight answer from the I Ching)
and when the sun was really up they'd squint
at the treecover for black cats and try to imagine
where the stars went when no one was looking

and then laughing went
whispering don't tell anyone
creeping back away to bed tossing their
halffullempty cups by the wayside as they passed

they decided simply a long time ago that
caffeine was for lovers and others
who considered the day worth staying awake for