One of those rubber swimming hats is being pushed down over my head,
weights on either side stretching it until the pressure is so intense I’m sure it can’t take much more.
And all the while I’m on a music box, the doll in the middle spinning around
until the box is shut again.
The bursting boils of the sun are leaping into my eyes
no matter how far back I push myself in my wheelie chair.
Forcing my eyes shut does nothing
except send me into a daze.
I desperately search the medicine cabinet — the packet of paracetamol is empty.
Treeshallow Musings 