A Tragedy In One Act (A haibun)

I woke up from a nap thinking about in medias res. It was 7:30 pm on a Tuesday and my room was sweltering with something in between radiation and sleep deprivation. My skin felt like the outer layer of garlic and my breath reeked of rotten banana peels. My left eye was swollen, possibly because I dreamt of the inclusion of the letter ‘T’ in the word “dream,” and I never have a good reaction when it comes to grammar. Anyway, so I wake up thinking about what happens to mornings when faced with the letter ‘U’, and seeing the spit stains on my pillow case resembling something of a twisted cloud of enzymes, salts, DNA, bacteria, and whatever it is that makes my breath taste like my toothbrush whenever I forget to douse it with Purell, I terrifyingly screamed hoping to scare off the possible mouth ulcer forming on the inside of my right cheek. I fell back to sleep briefly, as I sometimes do after being faced with long journeys to Oku and having to act serious in front of my dinner plate. I look at my open closet door and ask,

“Why is it chilly

For a window to think of

Existentialism?”

Suddenly a middle-aged fist starts banging on my door followed by the onslaught of, 
“Justin, wake up you lazy ass! You better not have fallen asleep at the computer again.”

“Is it wrong to sleep

When the eyes are heavy with

Syllables and mulch?” I responded.

            “21 years later, and I still regret teaching you metaphor. Anyway, get your ass out of bed. It’s dinner time and I made a nice ambrosia casserole, i.e. turkey and cucumber sandwiches with a fresh canned cheese garnish,” replied the fist.

Sometimes I wonder if Venus really is my mother, or just another stage name.