Poem of the Week 11


I nap on my back in the afternoon.
If I do so at night, I gargle, and croon
A phlegmatic and most unmelodious tune,
So I nap on my back in the afternoon,

And I wake from it fresh as a bird in flight.
God’s in Her Heaven, and everything’s right
with the world and the world is a beautiful sight.
If only it looked that way at night!

But at night I sleep on my side and groan
An ugly, unmusical, elderly moan,
And I wake in the middle and go take a piddle,
And all that I see I would like to disown,

Except for that woman who keeps putting up
With this drivel I constantly pour in her cup.

— John Ridland