Night of the morning of short knives,
drills and screws, glue and cadaver bone

Early to bed- Ha! in bed all day.

Eyes closed, mind Percocet blank…
Fully dressed— bare **** gown, oxygen monitor, IV, **** bag, wound drainage can.

Oxygen monitor beeps and flirts with 89%
Silencing deep breaths, Buddha breaths.

What’s with my tummy, **** or not?
soothing infusion, preventive IV drip

Vital visits (4), blood pressure,
pulse (yes), and extra oxygen check.

More oxygen beeps.
If it beeps and no-one comes, does it count?

Three drainage dumps,
Purple red spattered gown and sheets

The inept vampire lady appears.
Can’t see, feel, or find a vein.

First of two that night, the glucose *****.
Revenge, the ******* offered.

The empty IV machine beeps back at the oxygen monitor

The sting of a forced catheter.
Have a pill, dear, you’ll just *** blue

Another anti-**** infusion.
Maybe if I could sleep it would all go away.

It’s four am and not a wink.
And here come the hiccups.

Beeping oxygen monitor, barfie tummy, drainage dumps, vampire lady, sugar *****, blue ****, empty IV, hiccups and a partridge in a pear tree.

But I’m probably getting better.

I woke up underground.
It was eons since my last meal.
My tiny brains were flooded with hunger pangs
I was not your green comic book T-Rex,
I was scarlet vermillion and brilliant oche
and I was confined in the dank earth.
I flexed my armored reptile muscles
and pushed and dug upwards.
I broke ground and saw a feeble sun,
but I was in the middle of a picnic!
Wilted chicken salad and greasy brats,
and some pale mammals,
with crunchy arms and legs.
I left the chicken salad for the flies.

at the outdoor bar on the beach
And all the golf carts gather around.
Some Elvis and a few more beers
No millennials until sundown.

In that little deuce coupe,
the Beach Boys run around,
Surfer girl's a Pasadena lady,
And surf boards are all aground.

Now I long for yesterday
When oldies were the craze.
There goes the sun and I say,
Hey Jude, here's to better days.

I ride back to the boonies,
thinking when oldies were newsies.
Wake up little Suzie,
we gotta go home

A taunt and a challenge
Roll down the hill in a rusty 55-gallon drum
No brakes  just trees
A bumpy jumpy rolly ride
Disorienting dizzying
Hit a tree spin out
Bruised and staggering
Stumble and fall.
Where is the bravery-stupidity line?
At the top of the hill.

Wigglely array of commas
Puppy pile

One day my dreams were just dreams
No need to plan, to scheme, to save
My dreams change into...what?
The path never taken, the life never led?
But on the balance, some good...
I don't see it.
I just don't see it.

In Sevastopol harbor*
on a glittering day,
the shiny, refurbished, 
***** and span 
missile cruiser Moskva 
blocked the harbor?
Sailors stood on deck 
in formation,
saluting and marching.
Small boats (two) 
circled the ship 
on mystery missions.
Makework for sure.

And not a ship or boat
could leave the harbor
for hours.?
A few days later, 
our little cruise ship
sailed the Black Sea.
Lo and behold,
the Moskva, pride of the fleet
shadowed and playfully 
circled us,
and then sailed away,
leaving us uneasy.

What we saw was a dry run,
just a practice.
The next year, the Moskva
again blocked the harbor,
penning in 
the Ukrainian navy,
as Russia invaded Crimea.

The Moskva is sunk.
Sorry for the sailors,
But adios, 
Bully of the Black Sea.
Rat *******.