“This bitch won’t let me sleep,”
but it’s you who haunts my dreams,
missing you and finding me again, thumbs
around my waist, taking the mystery suitcase,
leaving me to clean up the mess, the hotel, the room,
the car, the stove, the dog hair, the glass.
I dream of a bloody man (not you) in a truck
full of bloody cows, skinned and standing silent
in the snow. He chases me down the empty road.
At least, for once, I can scream and see and run.
I thought I was the best at sleep
until I saw how much you love the bed. Not me
or us or in bed together, but the stupor of sleep,
hiding from the sun, hiding from me,
hiding from the world, eyes shut, mouth wide open.
Maybe the dog comes back for kisses,
but this bitch has learned to let you lie.
Sweet dreams, sweet boy. We both know
there’s no rest for the truly weary.