DISCOMBOBULATION

DISCOMBOBULATION The clock on the bedside table Says two forty-five in the morning.. Hours of precious sleep time yet Until the day is dawning. I shine the torch around the room; The battery’s running low And nothing feels familiar In the flickering, eerie glow. Somebody’s moved the wardrobe, And whose is that nursing chair? I’m sure, before I fell asleep, That wasn’t standing there. Perhaps I’m not awake at all And this is just a dream. Later on I’ll discover That things are not what they seem. But now I need the bathroom; It’s a sign of getting old. And so I push the covers back, Shivering with the cold. I hastily don my slippers And, increasingly frustrated, Try to locate the en-suite. I’m discombobulated Feeling my way by torchlight, I need to get there fast. Then suddenly, to my relief, I find the door at last. Gratefully I step inside And firmly close the door. And here I am, stark naked In the hotel corridor