you awaken

to the screech of drilling machinery

with the cold seeping through your blankets

with the taste of bile at the back of your throat

with the itching of your amputated arm

and the glare of a flashlight knifing

into your pried-open eye.

someone mutters “responsive.”

..

worst of all is the gnawing of drug-hunger

because you used your last dose to sleep.

..

“hank,” says the voice that had muttered,

“we’re going to plug you in.”

“okay,” you croak.

..

a lovely nude woman under the sheets with you

kisses you awake.

spring sunshine streams through the window

and the dust-motes drift in the sunbeams.

you smile at the woman and reach for her

with your arms, but she gently pushes you back

and slides out of bed, lifting a bathrobe

from the back of a chair and saying

“got to stir the eggs before they burn. brb.”

you stare in amazement at your two good arms

clad in pajamas sleeves. breakfast smells waft

from the kitchen–

then all goes dark and cold.

..

the last words you hear are

“power outage. we better put this poor bastard

out of his misery.”