Magical Night-Hours (C) Poem by Margaret Alice Second

I have run the gamut of what can be eaten in the
office and everything ended in reaction - back to
a Spartan existence of ice-water and black, bitter
coffee; not knowing what else to do - last night's
meal came back up again and everything tastes
wrong, maybe a kind soul wants to poison me

To send me back home to the non-physical Astral
dimension - whatever, feeling ill is no joy - there's
nothing good in eating sawdust and drinking bitter
bubbles of carbonated water - therefore starting a
new regime, eyes unfocused and head lolling, but
after tea with a little sugar I am standing at my

Computer, dreaming of being one of the Magical
Night-Hours waiting to play pranks on Night Owls