I’m pretty sure I am in a coma.
Pathways rolling off toward distant points of promise converge
back on me like the knot holding together a Christmas bow
that’s wrapped around a big box with my name on it.
I keep trying to snap awake, squinting to see the hospital ceiling
that must be just past this quite convincing illusion cocooning me.
This can’t be real.
Fate seems to have walked before me handing out VIP passes,
because the doors keep opening and I am getting more worried
someone will discover they have the wrong guy and take it all back.
A large weed appeared in the bricks of my porch and I checked for
days if it would grow to the clouds so I could climb out of here.
Look for the Adam’s apple.
If this year were a woman, it would be Tyra Banks with angel wings, but a little voice in my mind keeps telling me she’s bound to
end up being one of those transvestite celebrity impersonators.
Every once in a while I spin around at an odd time to catch that
bastard running up behind me to say “You’ve been punked!”
I’m pretty sure I am in a coma.
-- by Steve McKennon, 3/11/08
Copying this work to another webpage without author permission is plagiarism.
Plagiarism is a misdemeanor, usually punishable by fines of $100-$50000 and up to one year in jail.
Comments on Bow-tied Coma