Night Time Battles

Night Time Battles

My night travels

when my body tries to be still,

but my brain still moves.

Foxes scream—

the scramble over the fence

sounds as if they’ve fallen

down every slat,

claws dragging.

They scream like someone’s been hurt.

The fox cubs cry.

My breasts hurt.

(It’s so maternal.)

I turn over.

I turn back.

Too hot.

Too cold.

Pillow’s just not right.

More movement.

Eventually, I drift back off.

I wake up with a start—

I can’t breathe.

Menopausal hot flush.

Face down.

My brain rolls around,

kicks in before my eyes open.

I squeeze them shut tight.

It makes no difference.

(You can’t pretend sleep.)

Always on the move.

Always going.

My brain too—

and frowning.

The train tracks—

they’re not even close to my house,

but my hyper-vigilant hearing

is tuned in like a radio station.

It picks up the sound.

Brain engaged.

Pick up the—

clap, clap, clap, clap, clap, clap, clap clap clap clap

clack, clack, clack, clack, clack…

Think about the trains

that we are nowhere near.

A repetitive noise

that soothes.

I try to tune in—

meditative meditation,

urban graffiti,

as the plant moves.

Or maybe the planet.

The sounds like counting sheep.

How long is this train?

Clack, clack, clack, clack clack

My brain’s round.

My body tosses and turns.

I breathe deeply.

Eventually,

my brain switches off.

I sleep.

Only for an hour or two

before the whole game starts again.

Next: the recycling.

The plastic lid drop.

Gone are the metal clashing days—

now the shouting

is louder than the clash.

The drag.

The wheels—

bump bump bump

Bump

Then the lift sound.

Hydraulics.

Then the crushing sound.

Impacting.

Impacting on me.

Repetitiveness.

Repeat.

Repeated.

I drift back.

Feels like hours—

but it’s minutes.

It’s light.

And it’s time to get up.

Brain engaged.

Body moving.

Coffee.

I need coffee.

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