5 AM
by Franklin Marion
Another morning, sun trying to come up, a mist settled over the sea,
Another day, another time, I know what’s right by me.
The street sweeper coming down the street, keeping the city clean,
The Miata’s there, and here I go, for morning coffee with Dean.
I knock on the window, and he walks down, to open up the door,
I take a seat, and listen to him, with tales of tallying receipts.
‘It was a night we had’, he says and frowns at the Mr Coffee machine,
‘I need a newer faster one’ he growls, that’s morning coffee with Dean.
The sun’s up now, the mist is clearing, the day is looking good, “
And here comes TJ , right on time, we knew, of course, he would.
The Tribune has been scoured through, sports section with eyes so keen,
Conversation, healthy debate, and morning coffee with Dean.
Times have changed, and places too, mony a weary fit I’ve roamed,
From the desert bare, where my house did stare, at western skies and stone,
To the mighty redwood coast, and look back on those mornings, good times that have been,
With friends while day was breaking, and morning coffee with Dean.