My headache is a madman tidying up my brain,
insanely sweeping up random thoughts and ideas with a snow shovel,
the one with the sharp, pitted edge.
He tosses them into a shredder
that growls and whines them into crosscut confetti and then
he tosses them into the air where they vie for importance,
first one image, then the next; manic flash cards daring me
to understand their origins and meanings.
The madman is dusting now, poking at cobwebs with a cactus branch.
Scaring the spiders that weave my thoughts, chasing them,
stomping rhythmically until all but one is left
who spins out an SOS, a thought of taking a pill or two or three.
I rise, shake out the extra strength, rinse them down
my throat with water, and wait for the blessings to rise,
the confetti to settle, the spiders to come out of hiding.
The madman is dead.
* Is there anything quite so lonely as waking up in the middle of the night with a raging headache? Well, happy to say I finally got rid of it. Then I thought – may as well make the best of it and at least get a poem out of the experience. To everyone out there with a headache right now – take a pill! This too shall pass…