Wake Me

Wake me
when I am dead,
dog-tired. And the alarm
bell just isn’t enough
to startle me back
to the rough, rocky world
of wide-eyed hell.

Shake a shoulder,
and drag me backwards
into the weak light of grey,
grumbling daybreak
where the mist gathers
like the weather’s mongrel mutt.

Pushed
into the crush
of pale faces,
the rush
of stumbling feet,
the mess
of people’s hurried lives
the stress
of this bright morning
hanging low clouds over my head.

Just
Wake me
When I am dead.

(A little depressing, but ah well.)