Heart Pills and Coffee

The strident, ringing telephone jars my eyes open with a snap, I wake into the intruding grey and dreary external light, Oozing through the curtains like some poor excuse For something brilliant to replace the former night. Spilling from the bed, mattress cools instantaneously, Padding across the dulling laminated floor Snatching up the receiver, growling a thick, curt: “Hello.” Far too late, the line is dead, there’s no one there anymore. “Who the hell was that?” I wonder, travelling from Wood to stone tile in the chill of the kitchen, Probably no one, I reason, but then it must have been someone; The infected wound of broken sleep continues nagging and itching. I scratch it with heart pills and coffee for breakfast, And ponder the therapeutic value of beta blockers and caffeine, It’s too early for science and I’m too intolerant for philosophy, And it’s much too daunting to consider all that could have been. I pop a soluble aspirin and swirl it in the dregs, Downing the potion and grimacing at the eerie, bitter taste, Then it becomes late enough to plan and dwell upon Exactly how I’ll lay another day to waste.