Country nighttime turned off the world
Absolute window blacking
Any other life void-invisible
Universe shrunk snack-size
Existence is only this cab,
these tiny lights,
this fuzzing radio
One direction
Only ahead
Only these tracks

A change in rhythm signals new territory
Lower infrastructure spend
Budget acknowledged by
transitioning drum track
More toms
Double kick
More bass, but
no less hypnotising, no less soporific, no less slowing, no less…

Snap.
Driver vigilance alarm earns its keep
Pierced by safety sound needles
Bleary eyes split open
Only closed for seconds
Enough to dry 3am eyelash glue
Intermittent, intensifying battle
Open versus closed
Here versus where
Wake versus yawning, rocking, mesmerising, irresistible…

Snap.
Assistance required
Scan for options
Snoozing thermos drools its last drips onto the floor mat
Moment of silence for coffee, our absent friend
What else?
Lunch box offers carrot sticks
Sharp, crisp, smug
No help. What else? Cake.
A silent bargain
– okay calories, we’ve had our differences, but we need to pull together
Health is tomorrow, safety is now

Sleepiness shrinks and stretches place and time
There is only here
Only now
Battle and bargains
Winning and losing
Until the sun comes up

Why can’t the bell ring early
Why does it ring late?
Can’t it just ring right now?
That would be great.

Instead it waits till later
After everyone’s been dulled
I’m waiting for the sunshine
But the sun’s been lulled

My eyes have grown heavy
What am I looking at?
I feel like drooping down
Falling down flat

Time is still here
I’ve started counting sheep
Finally the bell has rung
But I am fast asleep

Troubled, Crying, Red, eyes
The bottle containing
Tablets
The tablets help
Tireless exhaustion knocks the bottle
Tiny white dots
Tick away on a white surface
Transparent to my vision
Too many to count
Try to close my eyelids
To rest interminably
Two, four, eleven,
Twenty is needed.

Morning is lovely and cool
puppy is scratching himself
kitties await being fed
goats in their stall want to browse
chickens are seeking new ground
doves cooing soft in their cage
I want to go back to bed.

Fingertips tracing
     each of your ribs;
tapping out a word, perhaps,
     a tune from Chopin's early days.