Perhaps I Should Go Back To Bed

The organic bread is mouldy, again,
and my teabag has burst, in my cup.
I sniff, weakly cough,
slip and drop my last egg.
Perhaps I should go back to bed.

So I gaze at the greyness outside,
weary eyes blink, I swallow some leaves.
It is only just eight,
but I want to be dead.
Perhaps I should go back to bed.

I sit down, take a glance at the list
of the work I had planned for the day.
Put it back, lacking will,
and I cough twice instead.
Perhaps I should go back to bed.

I stand up, with recalcitrant sniff
as I think of the days I have left.
I decide to endure,
and ignoring the bed,
put my tea down and start work instead.

© Mark Sheeky. Permission is required for reproduction.