by Kenneth Pobo
I turn off the computer and
watch the moon through
a half-closed venetian blind—
then head to bed. Sometimes
I can’t sleep because I fear
dreaming. Last night I
dreamed I was teaching again.
Sex interrupted my words
like a stoplight on
a highway. What will I dream
tonight? The quiet comforts.
No crickets. Maybe
I’ll dream of my mother,
a happy dream, until
I wake up and she’s gone.
I’m sleepy. I roll over
on pieces of myself
that rearrange on a pillow.