Tuesday, September 30, 2014

Nocturne for Joyce

Nocturne for Joyce

There’s something soporific on
My shoulder—there’s no doubt—
For when my wife reposes there,
She quickly passes out.

It happened last on Sunday night.
We’d not been long in bed 
When my narcotic shoulder felt
The weight of Joyce’s head.

We talked a bit, while on TV
We watched a favorite show,
And soon I felt her breathing shift
To regular—then slow.  

And forty minutes later she
Had shifted not at all.
Our show had ended—now I knew
What next would sure befall.

When I turned off the TV set,
The silence woke her—fast,
And what came next? The usual.
(I’ve known it from the past.)

She sat upright—now wide awake,
A crocus in the spring.
“I nodded off—so tell me, Dan,
Did I miss anything?”

Oh, this would be amusing—yes,
A story bright and light—
But is it really funny if
It happens every night!?!?!

The heavy rain began to pelt
Communities across the veld.

[veld = a grassland especially of southern Africa usually with scattered shrubs or trees]

Shakespeare Couplet:  Romeo and Juliet (4)

“O, teach me how I should forget to think,”
Wails Romeo, who’s veering near the brink. (1.1)

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