The Lava Story
It’s Friday, ya know?
I wake up real slow.
Look around, no mouse.
Look some more, no
spouse. If I were there
and he were here, what
would I call the ocean,
dear? Since this is just
asking myself, I answer.
It’s not lava, I suspect.
And me being me,
having just woken up,
do as I do no matter
who’d be here (with
the only invariable:
that I’d have to be)—
and that’s the same
damned thing I’ve
surely done some
three or four times
since slipping away
from yesterday for a
few scattered, conked-
out, snore-laden fever-
like dreams—which is,
I excuse myself and
I hobble slowly over
to the lavatory for
that momentary
relief. Then I
shake it off.
But before
heading all
the way back
I pause for a
moment at
the sink,
look my
self into the
mirror and
mutter aloud:
Welcome back.
Happy Friday.
And then back
to the bed I go.
