I knew he was high when I walked in the door;

His body was twitching, there was nary a snore.

His complexion was rosy, his hair dampened black;

I knew he was high before the pricker went "clack!"

The horrible number stayed like a tattoo,

Spitefully showcasing 392.

With insulin active, we gave it an hour

And whispered a prayer to a higher power.

I awoke from a dream that Obama had won

When Susanne said, "Carey! He's 421!"

I stumbled to his bedside, my wits on the fringe;

Susanne poured juice and loaded a syringe.

I pinched some plump flesh on the back of his arm,

Inserted the needle, then set my alarm.

2:30 am - I walked through a fog,

Careful to test Charlie and not his stuffed dog.

Though it sounds odd, I was perfectly fine

With a blood sugar reading of 269.

I dove into my pillow, yearning for rest,

But woke once again for a 4 am test.

220 at 4 and 160 by morning,

Nights from hell often come without warning.

Don't care if he whines. Don't care if he cries,

He will never again eat Applebee's fries.