My upper lip is wet
And so is my nose
My thoughts are turned on
but my eyes are still closed
Should I open my windows? My lids?
Is it time?
I don't think it is.
• •
A foot searches for an escape
Burrows a tunnel to find fresh air
Oh! Yes! It's there!
An arm from under tears damp covers
feather warmth of a nesting puff
Get off!
Eyes still closed instruct a tired hand
to feel around for the familiar switch on
It's four o four, Oh God!
One leg lifts to catapult the heavy body up
Ready? Set?
One, two, three. Pop!
Both feet feel the fuzzy wool
and quickly step to the cotton beyond
Then across the ledge towards red wood boards
soon into woolen slippers that sail like boats
Into the night
A silent call
To the "inodore"
• •
Gently I float
slipping darkly creaking slats
I rise the plastic lid rose.
I bunch my nightshirt 'round my waist
squatting tentatively, vexing my quadriceps
who silently scream - I don't work this late!
But as they are my slaves,
they finally acquiesce
and lower my body
onto the "toilét"
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