Points of No Return

As the light pushes its way around the blinds today
I hear the executioner’s key
unlocking the door of the cell
of the condemned man, as the
clock strikes the hour.
It propels a white, dimpled golf ball
over the highest part of the break
now off the leash, free to silence your round.
A hush that is ended when you stand up
to make your address,
steel spoon ringing the glass, your loud and deliberate cough
all piercing eyes on you.
The penetrating scratch of the anaesthetist’s needle
as it prepares to deposit its load.
That point where you realise that no matter
how hard you stand on the pedal,
you are going to hit the car in front.
And the hard slam of realisation, when flying at 30,000 feet
that the emergency services are not coming.
Neither can you hold your breath forever at the top of the thrill ride
because like it or not - you are going down.
And with the sun now throwing shadows onto the bed,
another page has turned, another day has begun.