An ancient alarm clock shrieks at dawn.

A chubby hand rises slowly to slap it still.

A reminder that he has a life to live.

Slowly he rises,

Shrouded in kingly robes of white.

Dirty feet with uncut nails slide into slippers

Who take him for a stroll into a dank wash-room.

Beady eyes stare into the cracked mirror,

Take in day-old stubble and a new pimple.

With a helpless shrug he shuffles out,

Snatching up dirty laundry as he goes.

He eases down the rickety staircase,

The steps singing praises to their lord.

Like a boulder he rolls into the kitchen,

Pausing before China Village

And eating a few handfuls of pork fried rice.

Red-streaked eyes glance around his kingdom,

A tiny smile curls on chapped lips.

He grabs an old baseball cap off the hook;

His crown of polyester and oil stains.