8:37 am
Woke up to judders of teeming alarm clock,
Seconds before mother dear jarred into room and screeched
Get up!
Sucked in whiffs of Belgian waffles with ruby berries.
Squirted oozy, green toothpaste on bristles of brush,
Winced, cringed, spit it out, and rinsed.
Leapt through kitchen, heaped stalk of waffles onto plate,
Watched little brother dissect each waffle square into perfect eighths,
And slashed my own in half and gulped down in two, then ran.

9:14 am
Slid Metrocard through slot, pushed turnstile, chased down E.
Squeezed in between guy with posh mohawk,
Whose earphones bellowed Gary Glitter’s “Rock and Roll: Part 2,”
And
Grandma plastered with cheap eye makeup,
Who flapped her wrinkly, wan hands, crocheting wiry potholders.

9:32 am
Last stop.
Shoved out through car and wiggled into gaps where able bodies didn’t touch.
Shot up sticky stairs and saw sunlight, sliced through crowds and reached building.

9:41 am
Tapped foot incessantly in front of four-tier elevator.
Violently jerked wrist off of bony hip.
Checked time, resumed tapping.
Arrived at penultimate floor, greeted by Jack with his usual cocksure smile.
You’re late. Again.
Heaved out soft sigh, sat down at desk, scattered papers, pressed phone to ear.

9:59 am
Glanced up. Phone call. Glanced down.
Delirious woman on line. Vacate premises!
Hung up, glanced back up. Plane. Two of them.
Duo planes splicing through sky, petrified shrieks resonating from top to bottom.
Panicked. Phone ringing. Glanced at it.
Plane smashed into left wall, propelled me across the floor.
Left side fragmenting, sheets and blocks of drywall cascading 110 stories.
Sliding, quickly. Arms outstretched, clasping, hooking, entangling, to no avail,
Falling and tumbling and forgetting how to breathe and droppi