.....

The man upstairs is sleeping.
Saturday morning,
the sun is not up, but my keys
are opening the door.
Three machines begin a slow drip of coffee
and the smell rises upward,
along with the soft, sad music
of a hangover and the need to work.

Perhaps the man will take my misery
from me and turn it upon himself.
Absolve me, stranger,
i am ready to start anew.