Perfect Spring Night Poem by Keith Shorrocks Johnson

In the holiday let in the small hours
The battery-driven wall-clock
Goes tchuck-tchuck as the minutes pass
But time stands still - marking time -
And the big hand stalls on ‘twelve to'
Bouncing back - tchuck-tchuck -
As I make no progress with my pain.

Somehow my bladder won't settle
It seems wrung out, strangulated, aching
No doubt a sign of things to come -
And the times past when there was no pain
Seem so distant now as the minutes agonize -
No sense in returning to the bed covers
And hanging my leg out beyond the duvet.

I push back the ranch slider and go out
Into the perfect springtime night-sky
And arrange two bean-bag seats to loll on
Gazing up at the extraordinary vastness
And the multitudes of stars that wheel slowly,
For I prefer the comfort of the heavens
Having no faith that misery can be held still.