The overnight was accidental and just happened. He fell asleep because it was impossible not to. Maia neither encouraged it nor objected. It just happened.
At three o'clock in the morning he woke, n-ked, and swung his legs over the bedside. He listened to Maia's light snoring and realized he'd been dreaming of UFO's. Far away, he heard samba music and conga drums (because it was Friday night) and there were shouts, too, and staccato from exhaust pipes that sounded like gun-fire, but different; then, a siren, which, had he known the difference, he would say resembled a european more than an American siren, that is, more functional and less hysterical, even in the distance. He sighed, knowing the overnight would give his wife much ammunition to complain. He did not wish to give her so much ammunition, because he knew it would make her watchful and she would leak the grievance to her father, the general, whose ire would be vented via innuendo, next time they spoke. It could furnish...
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Comments about this poem (The Overnight by Morgan Michaels )
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
- Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(26 April 1564 - 23 April 1616)
(28 November 1757 – 12 August 1827)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
(30 December 1865 – 18 January 1936)
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