Last nights colours blurred in the rain
as the bells echo in her ears;
slowly the cogs turn in her brain
but its fuzzy; nothing is clear.
Her feet reach out for the cold floor
as the world straightens in her head.
Stepping forward to the bedroom door
a mine-field; watching where she treads.
There is hope for this tired zombie
as she finds her way to the ground.
She takes a gulp from her coffee;
her state, she can now expound.
Today, is what we call Monday
a sad wretch that follows Sunday.
Charlie Ann Alford 