The radiator is clearing its throat again

The radiator is clearing its throat again,

a heavy, metallic rattle that says

the day is coming whether I’m ready or not.

The room smells like coffee grounds and salt.

Then the first bird hits a high, sharp note,

cutting through the gray-blue dark

that leaks around the edges of the plastic blind.

It sounds like a drill. It sounds like

an alarm I didn't set, mocking the fact

that I’m still upright, still wearing

the same socks I put on thirty hours ago.