Midnight by Richard Thomas


Sat up,

Cold, drinking milk,

Listening to the tick

Of midnight.

Eyes watered,

Chest thumped,

Or rather, heart thumped:

Got agitated.

Looked to to the ceiling,

Saw nothing,


A good job too,

Couldn’t imagine

Seeing my own


As if the ceiling

Were a mirror –

No, keep that

For the mirror,

No need

To confuse things,


There was a fly

That shat itself

In black dots

Like bad polka

All over the white

Of the ceiling –

The ceiling

Will never be the same again.

Went to the computer,

Added another poem

To the collection,

Edited another poem

In the collection

About ferment and flies

And such,

Swallowed hard

On the skin

Of the hot milk,

Wiped my lips

Like a child,

Went back to bed

Thinking about something,

Dead to to the tock

Of Midnight.

By Richard Thomas


One thought on “Midnight by Richard Thomas

  1. Mr WordPress says:

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