Vote

Scritch, scritch, scratch,
there I am again
teetering
on the edge of sleep
clutching a ball point
oh Elpis
I left a message for you on a slip
inside Pundora’s box
folded inside disturbed sleep
these desperate disordered times
are too many sheep for me to count
jumping

running

 fumbling in the gloom.

Scritch, scritch, scratch,
quickly, lock me in
and I will vote for you in the morning
my children
none of them have tails
perhaps we will never be well again
docked
writing nonsenses
criss cross
dressing hurriedly
dashing in our hither thither
setting our souls on tenterhooks…