Tired
By Ewan
Wed, 24 Oct 2007
- 997 reads
Irritable, breathing deep at the dropped pencil,
the spilled milk and the broken glass underfoot.
Slow, blinking myopic, even with your glasses on
and the sleep rubbed out of both your eyes.
Your writing on the last-minute shopping list
looks like your father's did, just before he died.
Last night you dreamed you were awake again.
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