Robert Charles Howard - Masked Man

A solitary figure
stealthily scales the creaky steps
on a frigid moonlit night -
dogs whining in unison
with the gusty whistling winds.

The man in a mask approaches the bed
with measured pace and
remorselessly steals between the sheets
coarsely snapping the switch.

Don't be alarmed dear reader, relax
it’s just me and my trusty new CPAP
puffing air through my faulty tubes.

I speak to you fresh
from my recent excursion
to the world of the 'Medico Borgs' -
wires sprouting wildly out of my head
like a fibre lamp missing its colors.

Kristy held court at mission control
scanning the screens and graphs
like a savvy hawk peering over a field
assessing the speed of a squirrel.
But Kristy wasn’t looking for supper
just to answer the question <I>du jour</I>,
“Does he or doesn’t he? ”

Does he or doesn’t he what? you ask
Have Obstructive Sleep Apnea, that's what.
Kristy studied the charts and declared,
'Yes he certainly does! '

I’d had a scare or two in my time -
dozing to the shoulder in my ivory Dodge
and I remember Brenda all too well
who was shocked awake in her car one night
by an unforgiving tree.
She bravely fought for over a year.
I sang in the choir at her funeral.