Too Hard

I resolve to get up as soon as the alarm

repeats the same staccato plea, not to waiver,

not to plan what to cook for dinner, or whether

the meteorologist’s forecast for a wind chill factor

of minus thirty  means I need to find the scarf I put away

last winter. I resolve to jump up and not be bound
by irrelevant thoughts of summer days,
frozen treats, and the first lobstah of summer.