John-Ward Leighton

A CLEAN WHITE PAGE OF A DAY

Photograph: ©Copyright by John-Ward LeightonThe computer and WWOZ
pronounced in the Canadian way
has got me out of bed
from a dreamless siren fed sleep
and a rumbling empty stomach in parts
the prelude to a bouquet of thundering farts.
Now hands washed and pills taken
the poetic muse begins to waken.
A breakfast of bananas, strawberries
and cheerios
a coffee with fresh cream
am I awake or is this a dream?
The lounge singer
sings the late, late songs,
and I search the internet
for the rights of wrongs.
I check to see if a lottery dream
has come true
but these are not the numbers
I have drew.
The sirens wailed all night long
and all those payday ODs
sang their own sad songs.
I wake up my internet phone
and half listen to the chanteuse’s song
just so I won’t feel alone
‘cause at this stage
in this part of the play
all I have is
a clean white page of a day.