re POEM 11

Sleep apnoea

an irregularity of nature;

an endless mare stealing

sleep, that is before the apparatus

the size of a 1980’s cassette player

became a part of us,

now

humming mask

intrudes on nuptial nook

regulating shallow breathing,

no longer shaking the walls

of cerebral drama,

now

a different visitor -

but where is the choice

between the two? I ponder,

as a strange scent of roasted corn

fills the room, mingles with the dramatics

of machine and man

falling into sleep’s well.

Catherine Mark