Quirk Poem by Alexandre Nodopaka

I like to read in bed the New Yorker
folded vertically into thirds.
It's convenient and easy as I rest my ear
on the pillow with my index and

middle finger squeezing the heart of
the magazine against my thumb.
The writing is conveniently divided
into three columns.

I hold this restful stance with my thumb
against the aforementioned fingers
until Morpheus gets hold of me.
That's about 3-minutes later.

It's a man's reading job of course.
But when I'm in a real reading mood
I read many times that long
after which time unbeknownst to me

the magazine leaves my grasp.
Its disaccord must match
the archaic metaphors
in the choice of their poems.