Where new writing finds its voice

Don’t be afraid, you have just got your eyes closed

John Osborne

He was dreaming he was in the cemetery laying flowers,
saying goodbye to a friend.

Since he lost his job he’s had dreams so violent
he dreads going to sleep. Wakes up sweating,
his fingers itching of glass.
His optics with four bottles of Bermudan rum has not helped,
he doesn’t use mixer anymore
not even ice-cubes.

I see him shadow-boxing under the duvet
muttering fucks and shits
I whisper, ‘Don’t be afraid
you have just got your eyes closed’

and while he is sleeping
I tell him stories from my childhood,
cover his duvet with photographs
list names of tropical fish.