Usual

The usual sunrise slips through the blinds,
A soft gold spill on the kitchen floor,
The kettle sighs its familiar tune,
Steam curling like a quiet thought.

I pull on my well‑worn coat,
Button it up the way I always do,
Step onto the pavement, damp from last night’s rain,
Each footfall a quiet echo of habit.

The bus arrives on schedule,
Its doors hiss a polite greeting,
Inside, faces half‑asleep, half‑awake,
Reading the same headlines, sipping the same tea.

At the desk, the screen glows,
Letters form the usual words,
Reports, emails, the steady rhythm
Of a day that knows its own cadence.

Lunchtime brings the customary sandwich,
Crisp lettuce, thinly sliced ham,
A brief chat about the weather,
The same jokes that never grow old.

Evening folds in with the usual light,
Streetlamps flicker on, one by one,
I walk home, the city’s hum a low lullaby,
Thoughts drifting to tomorrow’s repeat.

In the comfort of the predictable,
There is a quiet grace—
The usual is not merely routine,
It is the steady heartbeat of life.