The morning stirs
and struggles to become a day,
accompanied by
engine thrum and the radio man .
I eat buns and apply
stoplight coloured lipstick
behind the wheel.
Kids on bikes glance in as they pass,
“Only someone’s mum” they say.
No magic allowed – it’s term-time
but it happens anyway.
Just above that bus, it’s going on.
The day wins through,
launches itself across our routines.
We don’t notice.
Seen it all before, seen it every day,
it takes big miracles to get us going,
levitation, water into wine, this –
it’s just another sunrise.
Lynn Overington
