A Brief History of Beds

Old beds reinventing themselves
as hammocks for the distilling
of sweat and foam
into an archive of dreams.

Sprung mattress’ sag like spavined camels,
or twist days and nights together
into sheets stuffed with mental laundry.
Some beds have fallen comatose,
they wilt like boneless owls
in slumbering hollows.

Beds keep their history recorded
in the brain-stems of a thousand bodily impressions;
beneath lumpy mattresses horror movies clump,
and pornographic images are laid
timorously to rest.

A young boy jumps up and down on his bed.
One day he jumps very high,
when he lands he is a teenager. By his side
a young girl (both),
not knowing what to do next, until the bed
begins to whisper to them.
Copyright © | Year Posted 2021

Poem

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Radice Avatar
October 14, 2021 at 12:59 PM
I really like your poem Eric. The title drew me in and I read it a few times. It's clever and there's a great use of language. As an aside I often wonder if memory mattresses remember bad postures and if so, what's the point of them? I digress. Great read. Cheers - Gary
Ashford Avatar
November 15, 2021 at 7:16 AM
Hi Gary, good point, maybe some beds bear us a grudge!
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