by Paul Raworth Bennett
Still in bed, half past seven, I’ve been sleepless since four
Peering through the darkness at my watch
With its pale, glowing face and black, blurry hands
Tunneling beneath the sunrise and taunting me
Soft grey light seeps through the blinds
Slowly lifting the shapes around the room from black to grey while
Mist of silence outside gradually fills with
Distant peals of circling seagulls and
Muffled sounds of early morning traffic
Lying on my right side, body half-twisted
Left arm flopped hopelessly over
The side of the indifferent mattress
Resenting the river of chaotic thoughts that
Repeatedly flooded my frontal lobe with
An aching mass of fog
But all is not lost; Bingo is cuddling
Warmly and safely against my tummy, like
A soft, fuzzy little cinnamon bun
His steady breathing punctuated by
Sniffs, snores, and the body jerks of doggie dreams
