Text For The Day Poem by Keith Shorrocks Johnson

Early this morning I woke in dull persistent pain,
From the disease that is slowly enveloping my life -
And alone, I tried to deal with these demands by
Preparing 10 milligrams of ‘quick release' elixir in a little plastic cone
But struggled hopelessly with the unopened bottle top -
And having already decided against a fold-over breaded smidgeon of the ‘wacky butter' supplied by a kind friend -
I finally settle in desperation for crimping two more paracetamol tablets from a blister pack.

And In my almost tearful confusion,
I am haunted by the concrete furrows
of the streets of New York -
A drone skimming the grand canyons -
As I rearrange my duvet -
The city and I folded in synchronized
Secluded vigil.

And like the good book itself, we settle on chapter and verse,
The city and I in our dark imaginings:
‘For thou whose property is always to have mercy -
Not weighing our merits but pardoning our offences' -
With the empty streets / the sweat-stained sheets as our texts for the day.