A Pome a Day for a Year

“You have eight new voicemails”
A sigh and an eye roll.
Red badge, white five
popping from green square
on rounded metal and glass.

Email screeches on unread correspondence
and I am despondent.
Leave me be. Leave my centre of calm!
What is wrong with you all?
Why is everyone trying to get hold
and why do they say the same thing?

Five words.
Every mail, every voicenote,
every message over and over
repeating five words at me.

You Need To Wake Up.

I am awake.
I am so wide awake
I can see the bags under my eyes,
heavy and set, my previous evening
a case of tossing and turning as phone
prods and pokes.

The mirror seems murkier this morning,
the light inside bending
and twisting over my shoulders
like ephemeral hands around my throat.

The phone buzzes again
and the message lights the screen
‘Please, please wake up, please’

I shake my head in frustration at
this lacklustre prank
and scrub my teeth, ignoring the
shapes that dance to my periphery.