"That's Nice, John, But It's Not Funny Enough"

I thought I’d slept my last good sleep.

Then:

Narcoleptic double dreams,

The inside of my eyelids tattooed with

Pictures of Michael and I—

Twins, almost—

Stealing dreams from those more liquid than us,

Chewing apples with eyeballs for seeds

(and getting the joke),

And seeing myself smash a wood bat over my daughter’s head

Thinking that I’m doing her a favor.

Thought I should spend as much time

Awake as I can,

As one minute awake

Is one minute not spent at my child’s bedside

Playing Whac-A-Kid.

Thought that consuming the grain at the bottom of the bottle would chase them away,

And it did,

But then I dreamt of the Sandman sipping Jack Daniels.

Thought that I should resign myself

To a small room

And two glowing magic boxes.

Then:

You told me that I deserve more.

And I believed you.

I sing myself a lullaby now.

You’ll hear it someday.