TURN THE TV UP Aoife Read aoife_read@yahoo.com
I thought I had a foothold
Upon a concrete platform,
But old traumas and post romance jitters
Knocked me off it.
Rattle and hum.
My brain buzzes belligerently
Around this cavernous skull.
All the curtains open
Onto rows of street lights,
Dotted along my vision
Like a jewel studded death row.
Adornments of entrapment.
Off in the outside
The roar of aeronautics and engines
Break my reverie.
Three floors up and no closer to heaven
Than the insects below.
I close my eyes to hear the silence,
To revel in the quiet chaos
That’s breaking in my head.
Problems with the frontal lobe.
It’s just too loud in here.
As headlights crack open the dusk,
And I turn the TV up.
