Pile Of Old Coats Poem by Alistair Graham

I

Beneath our naked bodies
a kneaded mattress of twenty years;
dad's donation when we were on the wire;
it's still beneath us now

Dad currently sleeps in a chair
with his aching operation shoulder.
ads in his newspaper
sell blissful sleep
in luxurious beds

His shoulder is healing under the care
he fought to finance every month
for god knows how many years

It was the fear, after the company
health insurance terminated when he retired
that put him in the frame of mind
for ensuring the best

II

On the mattress now, Lucy and I
drift every night
over faraway lands,
after long days of toil

Our retirement out of sight,
no money to insure or ensure
we settle with the thought;
we could sleep every night
on a pile of old coats
and wake up,
on a stack of new dreams