Peniaphobia Poem by Ted Sheridan

Speaks to me in my sleep it does; waiting
until I’m defenseless and it knows I will at best
only be able to roll over on my stomach
using the protection of a pillow, to cover up my head.
It never sleeps; at least not while I’m awake.
I keep trying to catch it dosing off but if it sleeps
it is with one or more of its many eyes remaining open
as it stands in the red light district of my mind;
lighting up and smoking my homegrown preoccupied
thoughts, as if we had just had consensual asexual sex.
And though it has no constant shape or permanent form
my guess would be it resembles a small rodent. Perhaps
a gerbil as I hear some background noises that sound like
little plastic wheels turning and then there is that smell;
the smell of cedar chips and wet timothy hay.
Taunting me like a bad debt asking me to write a check;
one that I can’t cash. It knows what I can and can’t afford
and it is willing to bankrupt me with its greed....

2008 © TS