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)