All Hail Dr Neal.

What am I doing here
at this brutal hour...
Aching ribs, crooked ankle,
broken knuckle,
general fatigue
as the change takes place.
I'm not going to pretend
I have anything to say,
or particularly mind
that a piece of work
was accepted recently.
Not even the coffee
smiles at me.

I read the notes;
the letter from me
to me
written by someone else
about the sides
I live with
and try and live without...

This preparation
for 'it.'
An unknown that waits
around the corner.
Right now I don't
feel all to ready
for 'it.'
I feel ready for climbing
back in to bed
and pressing myself against her
whilst she complains
about not having enough sleep.