Like blankets
in the heat of summer,
civilization is something
I want to throw off
(oppressive)
and the undersheet
of society too,
(restrictive)
but its military corners
trap my thrashing feet inside,
and the towering four-posters menace
. . .
flaunting their flounces
(flounces replaced every April)
and dare me to denude their frame
Sweating and claustrophobic,
I stare at the oversize
pillows
(for show)
that escaped to useless piles
on my dresser
–the stain-free social media sham,
which looked better online, frankly–
–the “still good on one side” car cushion
–the bucks in bank bolster that everyone has, and
the does-the-job pillow that looks cushier than it is
. . .
along with the pain-in-the-neck pad that proved
too hard but nope, sorry, no take-backsies,
and wonder why I even keep those pillows anyway
–arranging them daily with painstaking precision
and tossing them far less precisely to the side each evening–
. . .
since I could use the space
. . .
the space that escapes me,
(unadulterated space)
trapped as I am
. . .
by bedclothes.
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