Sleepless in Medowie
Posted: Fri Nov 06, 2015 8:55 am
Sleepless in Medowie
I’m staring at the ceiling through the dark before the dawn
and surrender to a force I can’t control,
which sets my nerve ends screaming though I lie as still as dead
with breathing in and out my only goal.
A thought is not yet finished when another takes its place,
I try to grasp a thread but try in vain,
like skittish cats they show themselves but flee lest they be caught
and then return to taunt me yet again.
My husband’s rhythmic breathing is itself a callous taunt
while innocent in slumber he offends,
so jealously I note the peacefulness of his repose
which builds the strength on which his day depends.
The common cry – “Try counting sheep!” has never worked for me
I tend instead to start to wonder if
they’re Merino or they’re Corridale and are they shorn or not
but either way I still lie tense and stiff.
The morning comes ‘round all too soon and yet not soon enough,
revitalising rest was not for me,
I’m doomed to battle through the day on half an hour’s sleep
a less than ideal state you will agree.
My mouth agape in endless yawn I try to look alert,
my heavy head droops forward in a doze,
risking whiplash every breath to reign exhaustion in
I snap my head back to a normal pose.
A snort escapes and mortifies my being through and through
I try to feign a calm and tranquil mien ,
I manage though to stop a little dribble at my chin
a second later and it would be seen!
I stagger home, I know not how I made it through the day
and all I want to do is go to bed,
my Hubby though has asked his footy mates to come around -
looks puzzled as a plate soars past his head.
He gets a look that anytime would turn a soul to stone
he tweaks that maybe all is far from right,
he says with sudden insight “Honey off you go to bed,
I’ll do the entertaining for tonight.”
I’m staring at the ceiling…
I’m staring at the ceiling through the dark before the dawn
and surrender to a force I can’t control,
which sets my nerve ends screaming though I lie as still as dead
with breathing in and out my only goal.
A thought is not yet finished when another takes its place,
I try to grasp a thread but try in vain,
like skittish cats they show themselves but flee lest they be caught
and then return to taunt me yet again.
My husband’s rhythmic breathing is itself a callous taunt
while innocent in slumber he offends,
so jealously I note the peacefulness of his repose
which builds the strength on which his day depends.
The common cry – “Try counting sheep!” has never worked for me
I tend instead to start to wonder if
they’re Merino or they’re Corridale and are they shorn or not
but either way I still lie tense and stiff.
The morning comes ‘round all too soon and yet not soon enough,
revitalising rest was not for me,
I’m doomed to battle through the day on half an hour’s sleep
a less than ideal state you will agree.
My mouth agape in endless yawn I try to look alert,
my heavy head droops forward in a doze,
risking whiplash every breath to reign exhaustion in
I snap my head back to a normal pose.
A snort escapes and mortifies my being through and through
I try to feign a calm and tranquil mien ,
I manage though to stop a little dribble at my chin
a second later and it would be seen!
I stagger home, I know not how I made it through the day
and all I want to do is go to bed,
my Hubby though has asked his footy mates to come around -
looks puzzled as a plate soars past his head.
He gets a look that anytime would turn a soul to stone
he tweaks that maybe all is far from right,
he says with sudden insight “Honey off you go to bed,
I’ll do the entertaining for tonight.”
I’m staring at the ceiling…
