Insomniac's Song

image borrowed from bing.

Insomniac’s Song

“Neon shines through smokey eyes tonight. It’s 2 a.m.

and I’m drunk again.” --Dave Matthews.

Five nights in

a row I was awakened

at 2 a.m.

Someone was softly saying my name,

like Sheldon repeatedly pounding on Penny’s door--

a female voice--Glenn, Glenn--Glenn.

I blink away the gauze of sleep,

staring at my electric digital clock,        red numbers on a black face,

            a tiny white noise gently whirring in the slit of night light;

                      always 2 a.m., exactly, & there never

                               is anyone there.

           

The night is never silent;

I can hear               the freezer & refrigerator keeping things cool,

                           cats scurrying after rats,

                       train whistles as the freight is hauled through town,

                  as forty boxcars slap at the iron rails,

               the old house creaking as ghosts dance upstairs,

           someone walking in heavy boots over the gravel in the alley,

       night birds hunting, courting, & serenading,

an electric garage door rolling open, then shut,

       a low rider cruising by with windows down & rap music

             playing loudly--love my hoes, mowing down pigs, hug my

                    niggahs, dancing witch-you,

just as some timely post-nasal drip

brings on spasms of dry coughing,

bringing my attention to a full bladder,

prompting me to shuffle through darkness

for a sit-down pee, dozing a little with

my pajamas around my knees,

& back to bed, blankets under my chin.

                 

                      So why am I still awake?

                      Is it almost daylight saving time?                            No.

                      Am I reacting to the Mexican food I had

                      for dinner--indigestion, acid reflux?                         No.

                      Is there still a tickle in my throat?                            No.

                      Did I nap too often yesterday afternoon?                No.

                       Do I need to buy some sleep meds?                       No.

                       Should I wear a silk sleep shade?                           No.

                       Do I need cognitive behavior therapy?                    No.

OK, OK, 2 a.m.--what the hell is the significance?

      What’s it all about? I do know that it is

             a Korean heavy metal band,

             a 1993 jazz album by saxophonist Theo Travis,

             a 2014 album by Adrian Marcel.

             an Iron Maiden song from X-Factor.

             a Teddy Pendergrass ballad,

             a Barry Manilow tune from Paradise Cafe,

             a song from an Anna Nalick album. &

             a 2006 Indie movie about five guys closing down 

             an Irish Pub in Dallas, a video game, & oh yes,

there is something on Yahoo called the

Drunk Shopping Service that allows insomniacs

to buy all kinds of useless shit at 2 a.m.

But hey, now the clock reads 6:30 a.m. & the dream I am exiting was

macabre & disturbing; my wife had stepped into the shower while a pair

of young Mormons in their black suits & skinny black ties stood in the

hallway, both smiling at me while one played an upright honky tonk

piano, some George Gershwin tune, just as our basement began flooding

despite the ungodly howl of our twin sump-pumps. I yelled at my wife, &

she came out to investigate wearing an evening gown covered with golden

sequins as the water disappeared--Go back to bed said she, & I did, only

to be awakened by someone playing a ukulele, to find seven middle-aged

women telling me they loved my open mic spoken word performances at

the BSharp Coffee House as I headed upstairs to find a half dozen County

Jail prisoners cleaning the rugs & furniture, “I got them from a Work Release

Program,” my wife said on her way out the door to work. “Good Bye, I love

you!” I yelled after her; Good Bye I Love You chanted the prisoners, laughing,

telling me I was pussy-whipped. Then I noticed that one of them was a

chimpanzee.

It’s two a.m. in the

morning, & my mind is just

squirming like a toad.

                  

Glenn Buttkus

Posted over on dVerse Poets Poetics

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