Read Poem: Portway, by David Pike

POETRY FESTIVAL. Submit to site for FREE. Submit for actor performance. Submit poem to be made into film.

“Breath the nice air,”
he said, leaning across
the adjustable chair
and shoving a flexible mask
over my nose
and mouth.
I started to gag
biting down hard
on a rubber bung
he’d previously shoved
between my teeth
and tongue.

Slowly the lights
went out
and a weird dream about Telstar
zoomed in and out
together with a soundtrack;
keyboard music blasted out,
then a creaking, grinding sound
entered my brain.
It creaked, stopped
and creaked again
followed by a sudden
snap. . .

And through a haze of fog
a voice was heard.
“wake up,” it said
“there’s a good lad,”
as consciousness returned
with a blood-filled mouth.

I made a hasty retreat
with parent in-tow
dripping gore along the
on the way home.

© copyright David Pike, 26th April 2018

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