Who Sleeps Anyway?

Her first sound is the click of the latch.

This stance says its late

As she hangs to the doorway,

Eyes an escalator.

They’d like you to believe she’s tired

As they roam in shifts.

 

All carpet leads to the couch

Where she’ll collapse

And curl to her favorite blanket.

The room

Brimming with the blue of a blank channel

Clicked to the talking heads

Running down

Past due stories.

 

It’ll be an hour.

That tends to be her time slot.

And she’ll remove the last of the night-life

To ensure

her place

near the night light.

 

She asks her son,

“Why are you still up?”

She wants to watch her shows.

Neither sleeps

As they interrupt each other’s trouble.

It might not be all night,

But it’s every night,

And only those that live here know it.