The comfort of pillows

This weekend's Poetry Jam theme concerned Pharmacology, and just around the same time I read the suggestion that we do a 9/11 theme. So. Normally I wouldn't do either of these, feeling I had nothing to say, or nothing adequate, or just not wanting to go there at all.
Aw, get some courage!
All is not sweetness and light in the world of poetry!
Wasn't I just thinking after the Always Looking Up, and Humor weeks, that that was enough of that?
Just can't be pleased, can I? (reminds me of somebody here at work... the advice is for me to stop trying so hard to accommodate...Might write about that, but some colleagues are readers...) So I've been thinking, in busses and between tasks and suchlike, and here's the (somewhat premature, but it's late Monday already and look what happened to my Looking Up poem - still simmering) result.

The Blue Comforter

The fog is going out
The morning is getting on
and finally the mist starts to disperse
Already the near branches of the oak tree reach out
and become real.
I can see the leaves,
one by one.
Come, Sun!
come shine
come warm the earth from its long night
burn off this thick haze
and let me see my city.

I stretch and yawn and the day makes progress
while I brush my teeth
up & down 100 strokes
and pour my coffee in its usual mug
and pull on my clothes
undies, socks, pants, t-shirt in order.
It's going to be a nice one.
Nice and sunny and I'll take a walk around the park and down to the library.

I look outside
Miraculously! the sky is clear,
the birds are singing.
And a plane
so clearly,
clearly visible
in the light blue of the morning,
streaks by and I must have I must have Where is the fog? Where? where bring the fog the merciful fog where is the bottle with its packaged mist to hide everything to help to block out the sky and let me cope get through the day.