the early bird

I get up at four
he tells me. sometimes I might
sleep in late
to four thirty, but
no later.
I beat the traffic that way
and get to work
early.
I get more done with no one
else around.
I go to bed at ten, he says,
pulling on his red
suspenders
and sticking his chin out.
and you, he asks.
when do you rise
and shine, hit the hay?
I shrug. maybe eight.
maybe eight fifteen.
but then I stop for coffee
and read the paper.
if the bagels are soft,
I might have one toasted
with irish butter.
at night I can barely stay
up past midnight though.
a nap at four helps.