Clock Radio

Perched above the bedside in all its morning glory,
A serial alterpiece dweller, a permanent guest,
Silently working, dull shine on its face,
Blazing red numbers, working their way...
T minus ten and counting,
T minus NINE, EIGHT, SEVEN, SIX...

You are a log, maimed and muted,
In pillows of slumber, unsuspecting, complete unawares,
Then all of a sudden it hits like a tray
Dropped down a staircase, all clamour and hail
— ZEEEP! ZEEEEEP! ZEEEEEEEP!
Jolting you sharply out of your sleep,
Your body is trembling,
Your hands are clutching your soft-boiled head
Still trying to comprehend what’s happening,
Your lungs are collapsing, your tentacles grasping,
Your mind is imploding, your heart stabbed with pain,
Your throat coughing and choking, you’re bridled in strain
And cursing the evil machine,
The tiny black box sounding the alarm
“Get up against the wall!” even though you are unarmed.
It dictates, commands your very soul,
You cannot resist it, the shrill peal echoes out
From window to window of every house.
It does not relent until all are awake,
They are led to their vehicles and taken away.