SUNDAY: COMPLEX PARTIAL SEIZURE SEVEN 

I had a song in my head which wouldn’t go away.

Big wheel keep on toinin was the first line of the chorus.

And now I am fixated by this water wheel, inside the cafe.

Beautiful, grand, thudding, hissing, geometric iron friend.

But it is becoming another trigger. I ought to leave here.

Sod it, what is there to lose?  A few seconds of consciousness?

And half a cup of coffee, hopefully spilled on somebody else’s lap.

The constant rotating is fascinating yet boring.

The drips leave each spoke at the same place every time: the first 

as if from an eyebrow shaken, the second like a squirt.

And the same geometry rocking back and forth.

Sure enough, here comes the seizure.  Nothing more than a tingle,

puckering of lips, chewing movements, interrupted breathing.

Piece of cake. Thinks: I deserve one of those to go with this coffee.

And from behind the counter a new tape starts to play:

Creedance Clearwater Revival's Proud Mary. How appropriate.