What Time She Goes To Bed Poem by Mark Money

at home in her highrise
she's intentionally vague
about what time she goes to bed.
imagery spills out in the darkness:
it overflows the drawers in the TV stand;
perches on the bookshelf saved 'til later
when it's lighter

her cat is disturbed by awkward breathing
but doesn't tell what time she goes to bed.
a Frenchwoman's dreaming-
she missed the clouds so much, she had some imported.
she laughs if you bring it up.

no, the lights of the park don't keep her awake;
the noise, the smell of the brats,
the taste of her skim latte;
she's asleep under her imported clouds.
(mon amie) a Frenchwoman's dream
just a bed in a highrise
with the imagery scattered everywhere.


(1994-Tulsa, OK)