bed calls. i sit in the dark in the living room trying to ignore them
in the morning, especially Sunday mornings it will not let me up. you must sleep longer, it says
facing south the bed makes me lay heavenward on my back while i prefer a westerly fetal position facing the wall
the bed sucks me sideways into it when i sit down on it to put on my shoes. this persistence on its part forces me to dress in the bathroom where things are less subversive
the bed lumps up in anger springs popping out to scratch my dusky thighs
my little office sits in the alcove adjacent to the bed. it makes strange little sighs which distract me from my work sadistically i pull back the covers put my typewriter on the sheet and turn it on
the bed complains that i'm difficult duty its slats are collapsing. it bitches when i blanket it with books and papers. it tells me it's made for blood and bone
lately spiders ants and roaches have invaded it searching for food
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9/9/2010 2:29:15 AM. #.34# You Are Here:
Bedtime Story by Wanda Coleman