Pupils scratch
at my eyelids -
restless,
impatient,
harmless.
So
my eyes flutter
open
like a Cyclopi-eyed camera;
staring blankly back
at the
only pair of eyes that won't blink until I do.
One
rise two
rinse three
rinse
four.
The pearly soap tries to help -
a grandmother writing a check for five dollars, signed proudly.
But it only helps for a minute
until the check crumples up and finds its way
down my throat.
There's only so much soap
I can take
before floating
away.
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