Another poem

The middle of the night

She comes in to my head,
flapping her apron.
Herding a bunch of malevolent chickens.
Whish, skudder,
in through the open door.
Skwarking,
flapping,
they peck away at my integrity,
while she scatters fear pellets far and wide in my brain
so they shambol further in
further out
and she cackles at the havoc she is reeking.