Knock on Wood

split consciousness

I’m dreaming and I know it

like watching myself in a film

never in colour, strictly monochrome

one camera, static, a single exposure

the consciences merge

permitting noises to infiltrate my dream

a persistent rap, a rhythmic tap

letterbox, door knocker, a woodpecker

outside on the cherry

but the tempo is too slow

the dream vaporizes, I wake

the knocking remains, real

I can’t see straight yet,

or swallow properly

and I need a piddle,

shuffling back to the window

I see the drummer

a Great Tit

hacking fruitlessly at the tit box hole

cut small to fit his cousin

I smile admiring his tenacity

shake my head pitying his stupidity

but who am I? A sarcastic voyeur

to chide him the tenacious slayer of dreams

Published by grahamrsherwood