Monday Morning

Monday Morning When I opened the kitchen door the fridge had an attack of the shakes then feel into dejected stillness which bayed in my ears. To break this force of nothingness I spoke and sounded like a wounded duck and the beer bottle held in a clammy hand fell with a foamy splash on the floor; wordless fear. Why me? The fridge rattled again but there was nothing of worth on its shelves other than bacon, eggs, cheese. Stop, I feel sick. Turned on the tap and fat maggots dripped into my glass, that too ended on the floor; fled, outside people starred at me because I was dressed in a red bathrobe with Hotel Astor stamped on the back. Copyright © Jan Oskar Hansen