Pen.  No teller.







‘Twas the night before work, and all through the flat,
Not a creature was stirring, except for two cats.
The meter was stashed on the table with care,
In case that there was a low blood sugar scare.

We two were all nestled, quite snug in our beds,
While fat cats named Abby made nests on our heads.
And Chris in his bedclothes and me tucked in mine,
Lay down our two heads for some earned sleepy-time.

When inside my body there arose such a clatter,
My liver awoke to see what was the matter.
He peeked at my glucose and spied with such vigor
That I was dropping low – I needed some sugar!

My liver, he poked me, and I shifted a bit.
Then awoke with a start and reached for my kit.
When, what to my startled blue eyes should appear,
But a reading of “50” and a small bit of fear.

More rapid than rapids, I sprang from the bed,
Unsettled the cat asleep up on my head,
I moved down the hallway, stumbled a smidge,
And made my way towards the juice stashed in my fridge.

Cracked open the bottle, drank down my eight sips,
Used the edge of the counter to steady my hips.
“This grape juice is tasty,” I said, don’t ya know.
“I wish I could drink it when I wasn’t low!”

I stood in the kitchen, admired our tree
As its white, twinkling lights glowed and comforted me.
The juice did its job as it coursed through my body
And after a spell, I felt not quite as shoddy.

I turned on my heel, shuffled off back to bed
Where my boyfriend was sleeping with two cats instead.
Slid under the covers, quick pass with the meter,
The result that popped up confirmed I was much sweeter.

I snuggled back in underneath the warm covers,
The cats got excited and meowed at each other.
Crisis averted, my body called “truce!”
And I drifted to sleep, ever-thankful for juice.