In Case of Insanity Eat Chocolate
Stirring in the bed,
Three o'clock in the morning,
The Sun still sleeps,
My good-wife lays a-bed--asleep--
But, I must stir.
A feeling, a vibration, an irritation low in my spine
Speaks to my legs, “Move!”
And they obey,
They—fruitless in their movements,
They—churning me not to the supermarket,
They—moving me not to church or car,
Club or bar,
Game or match.
My legs just stir.
My muscles moving, they must.
Oh, they must or...
They cannot run up my credit cards.
They cannot write bad checks.
They cannot extort me to commit a crime.
If I move them, they will still stir again.
If I move them, they will not be my friends
And let me return to blissful rest.
They irritate me, ceaselessly,
With their stirring, stirring, stirring.
And, I say, and,
If I resist and stay still
Until the sensation passes
In an hour or hours
They will reward me
In the morning
With faintness, exhaustion, and leg cramps.
Days on end
And still they are not my friends.
Is it any wonder
In a pinch
That I blunder
To that sweet relief, that bitter pill,
That bane of my sane self,
But the heaven to my insanity.
Left with no recourse
For the moment without remorse--
I break the glass
And eat chocolate.
Copyright © James Fitz-Gerald | Year Posted 2018
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