The crickets are singing.

Early morning wake up call

I hope they find a vein

Not like yesterday

left me with a butter stain bruise

I don’t sleep well at the best of times

still the call seems to always come

Once I have nodded off

This foam mattress would soak the life blood from the body

I dream of breakfast

The reality is nothing like the dream

I wonder, does the chef like scrambled egg.

Then the rattling of stethoscopes

The white coats –

That song

They’re coming to take me away Ha Ha

I’m itching so badly beneath this cast

It is not at all funny

It’s still just 08:30am…

(c) Chris Black. July 2018

~The Poet’s Poet~

Hear the spoken word version on  https://www.soundcloud.com/the-poets-poet-1