let me down gently

my plea to the editor as I submit my work for publication

let me down gently.
calculate the precise number
of empty days
my world can take
before it implodes.
remember to factor
the vagaries of email servers
and the motion of the tides
and the chocolate I am eating
waiting for the news.

let me down gently.
I’ve trained my mind to expect nothing
but every moment it lies
within your grasp,
I have hope,
which builds castles out of nothing
ready to crash
when you say the word.

let me down gently.
let me float back to the world
on a feather
and land in my own bed
the covers pulled around my ears
and a toe peeping out.
my teddy bear remains on guard
patrolling the room
with a torch and tactical baton
keeping the nightmares
of form rejection slips at bay,
from dusk until
the alarm shocks him back to sleep.

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