The bees are after my jam.
A friend cried in my dream last night.
She was inconsolable,
didn't say why,
just sat on a bench and wept.
I hide the jam under the ashtray,
but now the bees are after my hand
which holds the slice of bread
I ran off to get some chocolate for my weeping friend,
but the phone rang and my mother complained about her hip.
Now the chocolate will never get to my friend.
Maybe she is still weeping in the dream I have left before time.
I have eaten the bread and the jam.
The bee leaves the room.
I switch off the light
ready to dream on.