Fred Aiken Writing

melo-mela-moanin’-ownin’-tone-deaf
scorched marks running
down my ear canal
as the medication bursts on through
down through the gullet
take a right at the kidney
then maybe greet the gallbladder 
until one-two	stop	brake
to smell the roses
artificial roses—but what’s the dif
just sniff	though not too deeply
while the mind falls adrift
the body will become all stiff
and the melatonin will reach its climax
only to be awoken
	next morning
	next moanin
	next all too awake	at the crack	of dawn
too damn long to be late-late-late
back to work
it’s not too bad
just don’t call in sick
so you can save up quick
and later kick up your feet
to the sweet—sweet—sweet ole symphony
of sleep to the eternal beat