First Thing in the Morning

I don’t think I can go on reading,
I’ll need more coffee to help me through.
There is no line that’s worth repeating.

There’s no butter on this toast I’m eating;
It sticks to the roof of my mouth like glue.
I don’t think I can go on reading.

The thoughts inside my head aren’t breeding.
That’s a disgusting thought—ew—
There is no line that’s worth repeating.

Perhaps it’s true and inspiration’s fleeting,
Perhaps my brain has caught the flu.
I don’t think I can go on reading

This abysmal attempt at poetry, exceeding
My own expectations of failure, too.
There is no line that’s worth repeating.

I will not continue pleading—
I’d sooner impale this poem on a pool cue.
I don’t think I can go on reading;
There is no line that’s worth repeating.