Sleeping with the Demon

We’re talking heavy fire at 6am –

bazooka-sized syringes seizing eardrums –

and not so much woke with a start

as dredged from the murky depths of enemy territory.

We’re talking rounds of expletives

lodged in the barrel; that one

over the eight too big for its boots.

We’re talking mutinying arms 

and legs and fingers.

Oh my sad captain.

We’re talking overriding need to bust the dam:

the enemy within.

We’re talking very quietly please.

“You’re like a minefield this morning.”

Try not to cough for fear of detonation

then napalm the bastards with Alka Seltzer.