Eyes heavy, lids lowering as though pulled
by the black weight of an anvil,
she sits in the meeting, pinching skin
’til her wrists are bruising-blue and blotchy.
I must stay awake, stay awake must,
her mantra pure, the mandala white.
She eyeballs the table, glass-topped and old
with its intricate inlay of sienna and gold.
Stay awake, I must … Eyes open with a start
and light upon the red lacquered lips of the boss
moving up and down, in and out, making no sense.
The dreary grey drone flat-lines _______________
Horizontal lethargy, stretched out, lying down
warm and snuggly between cream sheets
citrus-scented from long airing on lush bushes.
Sleep draws her in on silver wingzzzzzzzzzzz
Her chin-propping elbow slips. Head hits glass.
Red lips hover. Next time, travel business class.