November (rewrite)

Time to wake up,
Time to go now,
Time to rush out,
Where's my jacket?

Grab some bread and boil water,
Eat breakfast to be prepared.

Microwave, my savior,
Grab the mug and out the door.

Water boiling on my hand,
Down my arm, touching elbow.

Wipe. Dry.

Cold air catches breath in November.

(Odd to record songs using a telephone. Perhaps this will develop into a work about listening through tiny speakers... "Ear Pieces." So many of my intimate moments in NYC happen through the earbud of my cell phone.)