An ancient alarm clock shrieks at dawn.
A chubby hand rises slowly to slap it still.
A reminder that he has a life to live.
Slowly he rises,
Shrouded in kingly robes of white.
Dirty feet with uncut nails slide into slippers
Who take him for a stroll into a dank wash-room.
Beady eyes stare into the cracked mirror,
Take in day-old stubble and a new pimple.
With a helpless shrug he shuffles out,
Snatching up dirty laundry as he goes.
He eases down the rickety staircase,
The steps singing praises to their lord.
Like a boulder he rolls into the kitchen,
Pausing before China Village
And eating a few handfuls of pork fried rice.
Red-streaked eyes glance around his kingdom,
A tiny smile curls on chapped lips.
He grabs an old baseball cap off the hook;
His crown of polyester and oil stains.