The Overnight Ll Poem by Morgan Michaels

There was grist in it for several benders. So egregious was his conduct, it might even inspire overnights of her own. That would bother him since he didn't consider turnabout fair play- through stealth, one must always win. But he knew she knew, nevertheless, even if she told only her best friend. Dumbly, he stared at his pants on the chair back. Had they jumped up, flown to him and said 'hurry, put us on and be gone', he might have given in. Walking briskly through the dark he could be home in twenty minutes, heat despite. Leaving would save him grief. He could say he was home 'way earlier and she wouldn't know, because by that time she'd be blotto for hours, subject to accusations of neglect. But the pants said zip, so he succumbed to the temptation to flop back tiredly and draw the sheets overhead. The great, curvant, triangle of Maia's sleeping back appeared to him, pale, through the darkness, like a breathing ice-berg as, slowly, his position made itself clear. It was comforting, her back, but demanded leeway. It was reassuring- a warm enticement to stay. So he did, and to his own surprise, fell asleep till six, when the alarm wakened them both. It woke him to the realization that his face was being scanned by Maia's wide-awake green eyes. How to reply? , he wondered.So he did the natural thing, after which he smiled and said,