It was over the night
you fell asleep on my couch
with your shoes still on
and I didn’t think to take
them off and set them
by the door for you
or bring in a blanket
from the other room, turn
off the TV and leave you
alone to sleep.
All I could think was what
might happen when you
woke up to find that I’d
tied your shoe laces together
and gone out to get coffee
and another magazine.
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2 comments:
I'm a fan of this.
As am I. The fanclub for your poem will meet Tuesday nights and devolve into club politics instead of talking about the poem anymore, but we'll all still feel compelled to attend for the tiny sandwiches.
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