Monday Morning

When I opened the kitchen door the fridge had an attack of the shakes
then feel into dejected stillness which bayed in my ears.
To break this force of nothingness I spoke and sounded like a duck and
the beer bottle held in my clammy hand fell
with a foamy splash on the floor; wordless
Fear…why me?
The fridge rattled again but there was nothing of worth on its shelves other than bacon, eggs, cheese…Stop, I feel sick.
Turned on the tap and fat maggots dropped into my glass, that too ended
on the floor; fled, outside people, starred at me because
I was dressed in a red bathrobe with Hotel Astor stamped on the back.