Dear God
What time is it?
Late, or Early
Depends on how you think
Or how your circadian rhythm winks
And then goes crazy
I can’t even think (not even a new rhyme)
Too tired
Thinking this for hours
Envying my family
Wrapped warm in their own dreams
While I’m wrapped in silence
But for the rain drumming
And the dog barking
And the refrigerator humming
In the other room…
No point in lying about
Don’t need no lights to see my way around
This is a comfortable blind man at home
Shuffling about, around, drunk on fatigue
And not just tired, but tired of this
As the kettle whistles, hush!
And I pour black coffee
By red and green appliance lights
And smoke a secret cigarette
Trying to count the stars
As endless as sheep
Mysterious as Turin’s Shroud
Cover me
Let me sleep
I beg, I scream-though silently
(‘cos I’d rather deal with well slept babies)
And sigh
As I watch the sun rise
Dear God,
No rest for the wicked, it seems
Nor me.