Waking Up Unrested

is a funny thing,

and you forget to laugh at it

since the circus-clowns you dreamt of

half an hour ago

are still chasing the talking wiener-dog

with their cartoonishly oversized

butterfly nets,

and you’re doing your best to ignore them

so you can cram for the math test

you didn’t study for,

in an examination hall 

that is some vague amalgamation 

of the DMV

and Ms. Dawson's fourth-grade classroom.

Math tests always made you anxious,

sometimes your heart would pound

in much the same way it’s doing now,

as you pick yourself up

from the sofa

at 4:30 pm

on a Sunday,

fully-dressed.