From decades of borrowed wakefulness
and broken sleep,
this body gives way.
The hated alarm faces the wall.
Last night’s dreams of peace
unfolded over fourteen unmedicated hours.
This afternoon, with morning coffee,
I take the two steps down to the garden,
descending into green rest.
I understand fewer things now.
I repeat small stories, so I am told.
It makes me timid to tell what I think is a new one.
When I start, I see people’s eyes dart to one another,
and so I know now what is meant, perhaps, by second childhood.
To be seen and not heard.
Without much of importance to say, I quiet down.
Give short answers. Sleepy, Dopey, and Grumpy are me.
And, you know, I try to do things the way I always did them,
then surprise myself when I can’t.
Or hurt myself out of stubbornness.
This is the way of it.
I cannot bear longish reads anymore,
though I thirst for the great writers.
I am almost bereft of Random Accessible Memory.
Perhaps I will pay for an audiobook.
War and Peace might be a bargain.
Although, my sweet,
I would dearly love to have you by my bedside
to read me into the night,
as I did for you, so long ago.
Ah well, I console myself with the belief
that I was not altogether wicked,
because we know there is no rest for them.
Lee Dunn has been writing since the age of 18, but found that work got in the way for the ensuing 48 years. In his home town of Toronto, Ontario, Canada, he reveled in his independence at an early age, and spent as much time as he could exploring the city’s Arts scene. He was introduced to poetry and prose by the works of two literary giants, namely J.R.R. Tolkien and J.W. Lennon and thence fell in love with the written word. His work includes poetry, short fiction, and personal essays, and ranges in theme from the surreal to the horrific, nostalgic, and themes on the human condition. He has been published on Spillwords.com, The Dark Poets Club, Journal of Undiscovered Poets, Crepe & Penn Literary magazine, and the Shelburne Free Press.