Sunday Morning ©

I am lying on the couch, flat, toes pressing up against the arm
The air is cold and I know I should put warmer clothes on
But I don’t
The waste removal van is outside
Bottles are clanking their way noisily into the
yawning back
My mind is distracted, I have slept but am exhausted
The news is on and I occasionally turn my head towards it
“Man cured of HIV”
I wonder what that means for the world, if it’s real
It’s Sunday morning
I'm lonely