Two O’Clock

I lie in bed.

Night has settled in. Taken over.

Darkness flows into all corners,

laps all objects in its embrace.

I lie there.

A web of words,

whispering, wailing,

 insinuates itself

into my conscious, my unconscious

as I wait for sleep.

I look at my clock.

Luminescent numbers say it is two.

I wait.

I look again.

Blatantly the clock now tells me

it is three.

Or perhaps five.


I pull the quilt up to my nose.

Suddenly it’s seven.

There’s a click on the phone.

Daily news has come in.

The dark is no longer quite as dark.

Daylight is waxing.

Street lights are waning.



A bark, breakfast, then a walk.

Slender young things legs encased in jeans

spill out of a bus,

head off for school.

It’s after eight.

Catkins litter the street

leading to the park

with its view of the valley

and the 12th-century abbey.

A cat looks nervously at the dog

who pays no attention.

Leaves, golden, litter the road

leading home.

It’s ten o’clock.

We’ve had our walk

and I my second coffee.

Sleep that had refused to raise its head

five hours ago

is now demanding to be heard.

Stubbornly resisting,

like the dog

who sits and doesn’t budge

when she wants to go left

and I want to go right.

I try to push back the fog

that slowly creeps in.

Two o’clock.

A short-lived splash of yellow,

brushwork of the sun.

A stop in its daily migrations.

And suddenly it’s three.

In our tug of war

Sleep is declared the winner.

But first

yesterday’s events pass by,

in a kaleidoscope of scenes:

nicking my thumb

in making slits on chestnuts,

a coin dropping to the floor

through a hole in my pocket,

my hearing aid flying off

as I comb my hair.

And then,

for an hour or so

I sleep as I should have

five hours ago.

Sleep has won out

and for me

night falls at noon.

5 thoughts on “Two O’Clock

  1. I love this slice of life, especially the well-chosen verbs that show how wrong it would be to think that this was not a day full of action.

    Btw, I am all too familiar with flying hearing aids😕. But here, in your words, their flight becomes less of an annoyance than an event.

    Envoyé de mon Di-Phone


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