When I Sleep

by Rupert M. Loydell
I don't know what to do with my arms.
They fall off the side or end up numb
under the pillow. Spiders build nests
in my armpits and my muscles won't
work in the morning. I don't know what
to do with my head. I drool and sweat
on the pillow, snore and grunt if I
don't get it right, drown in feathers
and dream of the dark. I don't know
what to do with my feet. Short as I am
they poke out the bottom or sides
of the bed, turn blue like the sky
outside. I don't know when to stop
reading or when to turn out the light.
Should I get up now or put down
my pen, turn over or rise like the lark?

When I sleep, I don't know what to do
with my bed. I'm not qualified for
dreaming, and can't follow those
do-it-yourself instruction sheets.
Should it be by the window or up
against the wall? Is a duvet or blanket
the best? I don't know whether to leave
the window open wide or seal the heat
in tight. Is breakfast in bed just common
or the sign of a cultured mind?
It's nobody's fault but mine but
I don't know when to do what anymore.
The light comes in at the window
each morning and disappears late
at night. Outside it is still raining as
I raise my arms up to the sky.