This is the one Sunday in the year that I hate working on a Sunday. The time changed last night and we lost an hour of sleep. I know we’ll get it back in November but it’s hard to wait that long to recover what we lost last night. This one hour time change feels worse than travelling and a greater time zone change, make it make sense!
This poem is my complaint about the bi-annual time change because I’m tired.
The Time Change
Spring forward Seems too optimistic It is more like a stagger Into the season. For a few weeks dawn has been Beating me to my desk with morning light Today the window holds my weary reflection Lit from inside against the ink black sky It is still dark because the clocks Changed imperceptibly Sneaky-like, while we dreamt And stole an hour of slumber, darn them This is a day of discombobulation Of messed up meal times, exclamations ‘Look how late it is and still light’ Longing for bedtime to come around Wondering why we do this to ourselves Like we do every March and again in November This mug is empty and it’s still dark I am going to need another coffee
Why do we keep doing this to ourselves?
😢😢😢❤️