Mental Meteor Shower

The baby food puked itself back into
your adult brain, backtracked you into a frame
where everyone else was in control of you.
Then you saw that even inside your own head,
there is a part of you who will never escape
the domination of them.

Maybe your brain has become a rotting plum.
Maybe your mouth has been filled with expired
dripping pabulum that nobody else wants
to gaze upon or even try to understand.

Maybe your microfear invisibly grew inside
your own head until it had to find a way out
and then its ghosts invaded
your own microwave, which suddenly
kept repeatedly restarting itself
for 4 seconds at a time, trying to heat up baby food.

Baby food for 4 seconds, baby food for 4 seconds,
expired, invisible baby food for another 4 seconds.
You try to turn it off, but then
it starts again.

You turn it off again, unplug it, but then
you open its door to peek inside,
to expose it or make it somehow fly away.
You open Pandora's box inside your microwave.

It hurls itself around every room inside your brain.
It explodes, it starts an internal fire,
it makes you scream in order
to temporarily replace invisibility with fear.

Stuck in your head, nobody cares.
Your screams break another mirror,
you look older again, more invisible
babies laugh and hiss and writhe under your bed.

Juliet Cook is brimming with black, grey, silver, purple, and dark red explosions. She is drawn to poetry, abstract visual art, and other forms of expression. Her poetry has appeared in a peculiar multitude of literary publications. You can find out more at www.JulietCook.weebly.com.