The Fan Heater

The Fan Heater

 By Heather Westra

It is as though a fly were trapped inside your thick, white skull

That you lazily move from side to side,

While you search for something to heat.

I hate you and your imitation of waves at sea

That never crash against the shore,

But I need you to cease my shivering.

After a while your continual sigh turns into short gasps

You sputter and recover in exactly thirty seconds-

I’ve counted many nights.

I lie here waiting for you to be silent,

Or for my mind to forget to listen, but in thinking so it never does.

You limit my use of space with your long white tail

That zigzags across the floor and up

To

Sink its teeth into the socket on the wall.

You sit there mockingly

Because you know I cannot move you,

And remind me so, by sending a whiff of burning metal.

Your sun-coloured eye pierces my closed eyelids,

Daring me to sleep under your stare.

I hate your rings of fire and the complex controls

That sit like ears upon your head.

Finally I twist your knob three clicks to the left,

And it is my turn to sigh

As you rattle to your death and breathe your last.