The Midnight Yoga Alarm

From the depths of slumber,
as I ascend, bypassing entirely
the spiral stairway of wakefulness,
I rocket instantly to high alert
with the midnight screaming
of the smoke alarm. Three blasts,
lights on, standing on a chair,
poised to disable, and it stops,
of its own accord,
mission apparently accomplished.

What doesn’t stop is my mind,
poking and prodding every time
my body tries to sleep again,
until at last they drag each other
out of bed, to iron out
their differences on the yoga mat,
on the meditation cushion,
in the poetry notebook,
and back to bed, three hours later,
nearly in time
to get up again.