flashquake Poetry

SLEEPING IN SHEILA'S HOSTEL
by David Atkinson

Rudely awakened,
I slipped slowly from sleep
Into a world that was shaking,
And considered standing in a doorway
Before remembering we don't have
Earthquakes in Ireland.

But the world was still shaking,
And the bed was vibrating,
Above the noise of people sleeping
I could hear the mattress squeaking,
Low voices, whimpering, muffled moans,
Wriggling quickening, gasps and groans,
Sounds of squelching, slipping, sliding,
Fanny farts, and limbs colliding,
How much longer until they're done?
I closed my eyes and prayed he'd come.

Copyright 2003 by David Atkinson

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