ten to one

A worm, insidious and noxious, feeding on my organs.

The sheets are fresh and tight, though the bed is old and worn; I sleep on the lumpy imprints of forgotten lovers. Not mine, I never forget you or you or you. It is not my bed, they are not my sheets, they were not my lovers. Am I to mind the past? one cannot have a tail without a dog.

I ate a clove of garlic and the worm lost interest in it's habitation.

Before the sun rises, my feet pad across the floor, it is wooden and quite old, a girl wrote her name in permanent black marker, "Alicia". I find my eyes. They are full of dreams and the morning sweeps down the chimney in a rush of fresh air and sunshine.

I cut it up into bits and fed it to the fish.