“A Handbag!”
Blit….Blit….Blit
Something wakes me up
Sometime unmentionable…it’s still dark outside
inside it’s as dark as the crevice of a coal miner’s arsehole
my nails tap dance drunkenly across the veneer of the nightstand
a keratin spider in search of illumination
Blit…
The light when it arrives, as always it’s late
blows the circuit breaker in my brain box
the room spins reluctant to settle eye shutters tremble
Kaleidoscopic, blinking like a misfiring X-ray machine
I prise them open, it’s a habit, sorry, I can’t help it
they stumble into focus yet all the while my brain is screaming
“What the fuck is that noise?”
Blit…BlitBlit
The ceiling refusing to comply with an answer
I elbow my way up into the forty five position
recline with all the grace of a deck chair aboard the Titanic
semi conscious I wallow all at sea trying to focus bleary ears
on the monotonous metronomic source of the irritant
What the actual fuck is that noise?
Blit…
Bum cuddling softness and a tangled knot of bed linen
an odd pool of moisture, possibly mouth dribble
confirm what I’ve already deduced…I’m in a bedroom
So why is there a dripping tap in here and where the hell is ‘here’?
hysterical decor screams cheap motel circa 1970’s
A flashback in vomit green and burnt orange
Okay, so time travel and a five decades comedown
the perfect combination
Blit…Blit
There’s an old burlap tote bag on the chair by the table…ain’t mine
Whoops did I bring someone home with me?
No evidence of socks or such, no faint pockets of farts, lingering
So no, probably not, thank the lord for small mercies
Swing those legs down girl let’s go water the porcelain
Blit…Blit………..Blit!
The linoleum’s cold as a corpse in mid winter
I’m shuffling and swaying praying to get there in time
then sudden warmth sticky and glutinous
looking down, see my toes swimming in crud,
not any old crud…a puddle of gloop,
a single red starburst explodes on my pinky
Blit…
I know it sounds blasé, philosophical even
but I kinda don’t really have time for this right now
and I’m hopping from foot to foot dying to pee
my curiosity doing the dirty dancing frog routine:
squelch, paddle, splat…squelch paddle
Blit…
I grab at the bag tear the mouth wide open
like my lunatic dentist when that bitch of a receptionist
has scheduled me an appointment thirty seconds before lunch
Well life’s full of plot twists some of them tragic,
often ludicrous this one’s hysterical
pee pours down my leg diluting the evidence
There’s a head in the handbag, an Baby, look it
He’s still got his hat on…
Blit…
Photo by César Couto on Unsplash
Love Sea 😘