My Brain

My brain should be like a juicy marinating roast 
But it’s dry out, cracked, and leaks under strain
It has dipped below the ‘low’ line for months now
So the dry organ thumps, heaves, and screeches
Like the sound of a train slowing down
Like a pond pump as it starts to suck air.

At night, when rem should wash the brain clean
When the juices are to be filling the pond
When all the pathways are to be swept 
When rest should be adding the marinate
When readiness for the day is being worked on
Sleep, rings the doorbell and runs 

I’ve seen fish trying to breathe
And machines run out of oil
I’ve seen the dry earth devour rain 
And children being fed through a tube
I’ve been next to a fire bell when it has started to ring
And how many have I seen broken down beside the highway waiting

This brain’s in trouble.