Do not bother to ask,
“Is it naptime?”
“Did I wake you up?”
Because if it was (and it was),
And you did (and you did),
Then it is too late.
I am awake;
They are awake;
You might as well get it over with.
What did you want to say?
Leave the box on the porch.
I will see it, someday.
If I am not too tired to walk so far.
But whatever you do,
Do not ring the bell.
There is no rest, they say,
to the wicked.
The Beloved of God receive sleep.
I am, no doubt, of a deceitful
And wicked heart.
But is it really that bad?
Couldn’t I merit a thirty-minute nap, at least?
Are there not sixteen hours in the day
In which you could get drinks of water
And fill your diaper
And claim parental reassurance?
Must you need it now?
At three in the morning?
Do not drive your car by my house
With its subwoofers and bass boost
I am sure it is impressive
I wish you all the best.
May you impress that girl.
May you have a large and noisy family,
Who keep you up all night.
Excess of sleep, the wise man says,
Leads to poverty.
If that is true, I ought to be rich.
Very rich.
Rich enough to afford voice mail
And a butler
And a nanny
And a sound-proof room.
Rich enough to sleep.
2 comments:
Darren read this to me over the phone this morning, as I hadn't had time to get online. It was a marvelous antidote to a grey, rainy morning. I'm going to call my pregnant-with-third-and-not-feeling-well sister and read it to her. At least you use your suffering to minister to others.
-- SJ
(And I hope you can get some more sleep.)
I should clarify that considerable artistic license went into this to combine many different events, and things really are not quite this bad.
As DOB said when he called me right after he posted:
"Did you write that or did you copy it from somewhere?"
"I wrote it."
"Oh, good."
"Good?"
"Yes, if you wrote it, then you're still alert and have a sense of humor. If you copied it from somewhere, it's a desparate plea for help."
Glad to hear it helps others, though.
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