Friday, April 1, 2011

Ha Ha Very Funny

The glowering bedside clock had not
changed numerals past midnight before
the foolery was already upon us.

After weeks of baby waking
umpteen times a night, accelerating
toward morning, baby bird slept

beautifully, peacefully
almost all of the long starry night,
while her mother was

wide staring awake
with insomnia maxima
horribila dusk to dawn.

By first light my own mudgreen
eyes opened over luggage lids
swollen to bulging carpetbags,

sagging with whole possums
curled up feigning
death inside them,

and I wondered how tired
is too tired for poetastery?
But even a fool's day can

be fine. The morning shone,
the warm noon passed through town
and here I am still somewhat

aware I'm alive, sitting out
in a late afternoon light
with a thumping plump infant

and my somehow-lovelier
than-ever-bone-tired wife,
playing tennis with the net

down as someone once called
this sort of lazy excuse for verse,
damn sure too tired to rhyme.

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