The Room With No View

by Jim C Wilson

This room’s a cube, too small for me to stand
in, too small for me to lie in – and grey –
not dull, not bright, just basic neutral grey,
and if I were to sleep (curled up) when I awoke
I would not know how long I’d been asleep,
if it had been two hours or it had been
two days (or twenty years) and so I would
not know what day it was (or year) and what
is more I would not know if it were day
or night, this room’s grey walls being windowless
(and doorless too, I should have said) and when
I think of food I can’t be sure about
how hungry I should be, not knowing when
it was I last had food and do I need a wash
and where’s my keys and dog, and do my friends
not know about all this and how I came
to be in this small room, this too small room
where I’ve been writing this for, well, I’ve been
writing this for thirty hours or thirty years
although these days or nights one can’t be sure
of anything, the length, the heights, the depths