Pots And Pans In The Night Cause One's Insomnia Poem by Shelby Barker

A hairbrush soars from a strong hand
It falls
between a cold wall and a warm body
Inertia and bad aim, that is

(There’s a chair jacked under the front door)

A migraine comes into play when convenient
It’s proclaimed absurdly
But between a loud apartment and quiet fears
Who wouldn’t lure sleep with a needle in their vein?

(There’s pieces of the remote all over the floor)

Birthdays aren’t meant for tears
It’s selfish but hard to help it
Between thirty-cent books and phone calls to Mother,
Tags attached and too-easy eavesdropping

(A is for Alibi, B is for Burglary, M is for Murder)

P is for Pitiful
Pathetically pitiful

“Please, don’t, Ozzy doesn’t like the snow”
(Please, remove your hands from her throat)

Oh hole, hole in the wall
Is this anymore a home house at all?