Snoring was better

He didn’t snore,

he talked in sleep

all the things he said made me wish

that he snored instead.

With snoring, it would be

less trouble for me.

Some nights, I wake up

with him shouting at someone

he was playing soccer with

and for the life of me

it was unimaginable of him;

he hated soccer.

On other nights, he ran his office

from his pillow, deep in sleep;

the good manager that he was.

I would get a sense

of who was running the show

it wasn’t him, really

but his boss kept him on his toe

and so chanted his boss’s name

like a life-saving mantra.

On some nights, he mumbled

poetic versions of beautiful nature

and left me dumbfounded;

he was high and dry about poetry;

to him, poetry was lame.

He seemed to live a separate life