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)