Where am I? I want to go home.
Who’s paying for this meal? For this hotel?
What does my wife mean, she has the checkbook?
Why does she laugh when I tell her not to bother
visiting tomorrow, I won’t be here, no sir,
but on my way to the moon.
Where were you? I haven’t seen you for days.
“I was just here at lunch.” Oh, that’s all right, then.
It’s the nightmare you can’t quite awaken from.
“God!” I’d cry, seemingly to no one.
As for me, I’d hoped to die before my mind quits.
Poem copyright 2017 by Jnana Hodson.
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