The Day Before Tomorrow

Today I husband hope--
sugar in a time of war.
It's past noon and,
for those scoring at home,
trusting yesterday's cream in today's coffee
counts as my ranking test of faith.

I am (de?)composing in bed,
un-showered and unshaven,
an old warm-up suit my one concession
to burning daylight.

The day marches on
less and less in the shadow
of Parkland Hospital.
"Euthymia trumps relapse."

Perhaps I will write tomorrow,
less self-indulgently,
with more vigorous hope.
Perhaps I will feel less
like a sitcom actor

between episodes.