Insomniacs Anonymous

by Bruce McRae

As you may surmise,
we hold our meetings at night,
our torment unreasonable,
our pallor make-up won’t allay.
Witches convening in a moonlit glade.
Criminals washing the blood
off their roughened hands.
The happy-go-lucky undead,
eschewing brains for a bucket of coffee.

We pledge allegiance with a yawn.
We sit. We stand. We kneel,
beseeching sleepless gods and demons.
But never do we lie.
Never do we rest our heads
a moment before morning.