I'm lying awake on a
brand new mattress, and I can't
even sleep with how nice it is.
I'm waiting for
the springs to break my back,
and when they don't
I can smell her upstairs
making a pot of coffee
because she can't sleep either
and while my feet ache too much to reach
the two new inches to the floor
I try it anyway
I wonder if her coffee is black enough for
me tonight
I wish that I had a perfect throat to finish
off another cup without some medicine.
I think about new army drugs, to help
you remember when you can't. Or something
like that; he was telling me about it because
he heard it on NPR.
I wish that it was not so hard to lay on this
nice soft mattress that I am trying to love
but somehow I am waiting for the springs to break my
back.
And when they don't, I think of something funny
that you said. You were sixteen, and in love with
my best friend. You were funny, and I laugh out loud
whilst I wish for coffee and army drugs and wonder
how you grew up too fast. Why your hair grew out so
fast. And if you still want to become a policeman.
I wish I were as tired as I thought I was.
I wonder, is she reading up stairs? While she drinks
her semi-black coffee with my really good cheesecake?
I made that cheesecake pretty well. I know that
I'm pretty good at something, just not good enough
to fall asleep tonight, without my old decrepit mattress.