My midnight inquisitor, my ghostly phone call,
unseen hacker of my alpha matter—
your hidden venom's triggered in my veins
by merest moonlight, a cat's slight
shifting on the bed, and suddenly
each of my senses has been jacked,
my power plant seized by rebels.
You crank my hearing to the max until
my pillow-mate's soft breath whines
like it could sever steel. You twist me
between blankets and sheets in a life-size
Chinese finger-trap that tightens
either way I turn. Let me learn
to accept your powers, relinquishing
the soft footpath back to sleep
as soon as I feel your cold shadow fall
across my dormant form. I know
it's not a joke, having friends with whom
you carry out a nightly assignation.
I've seen their jaundiced eyes, their thread-bare
bones and souring hope. Let's cut a deal:
spare me those and I will do your bidding
cheerfully, when the business of the night
requires my wired attention. Guide me
to the living room on slippered feet;
help me remember how much there is
to love in the scenery here:
the muffled clock, a mug of milky tea,
sky black and birdless at the window,
the story-beat of a dream cut short
still thumping inside, and this frozen slice
of time in which to write it over
and over again, your gift before first light.
Judge’s Comments:
This poem was a very close second. It’s tightly organized with lovely internal music (hacker/alpha/matter/jacked) and vivid imagery throughout.
Scott Lowery
Poet’s Statement:
Thankfully I don’t have frequent encounters of this kind, but it’s also true that I’ve wound up with several dream-related poems in this manner, ones that otherwise would’ve slipped away if I’d gotten a good night’s sleep.