Exhausted, I roll into bed, does it roll back into me? That’s a question for myself, do you think it does so tenderly? The doona now wraps himself around me, presumptuous, he takes up over half the bed, it does not matter there’s nobody laying next to me, that space is for me to sprawl, not for Doona to spread! Electric Blanket quietly sizzles to himself, cackling softly as he overheats and overwhelms me, in the midst of my sweaty nightmare that is of my imagination’s frightening making, and the heat which he throws from beneath me. My socks want to escape, one is flowing from my ankle, the other is barely held by Big Toe, I scramble with opposing feet to Save the Socks from becoming redundant - oh wait, they already are. Doona has been thrown down, useless upon the ground, Electric Blanket is irritated his heat is no longer caressed, What about me? I am freezing! There’s no point doing anything but shuddering and trembling, sockless, without a blanket, it’s below zero degrees in Melbourne tonight! © 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved. Image by Pablo Elices from Pixabay
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Lauren M. Hancock Poetry and Prose 
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