Bed Snatcher

 

In this room where no man has slept for sixty years

since grandfather was banished for snoring,

I exchange embroidered lilac for plain blue.

                                                                                                                 

He chuckles at my spinsterish hot water bottle

companion of an afternoon nap.

Blushing I fling it to the floor.

 

His slumberous breathing blares like a brass band.

I need deaf silence to sleep.

Arms and legs advance over the mattress

 

as I lie watching through the curtain’s cleft

for light to agitate the darkness,  

cribbed on a ledge of my bed.