Impossible Mission To Sleep On Opposite Side of Marital Bed
Impossible mission to sleep on opposite side of marital bed...
Oddly enough even
when frolicking in the autumn mist
with seasoned super tramping
cheaply tricked out goo goo dolls
some resembling Indigo Girls,
one foo fighting beastie boy
unable to adjust snoozing
on the left bedside.
Don't ask me why,
cuz we (all the barenaked ladies
who gifted me
with their uncommon
sense and sensibility) did make
a conscientious effort and try
behind closed doors to pry
ourselves loose from convention
impossible mission to modify behavior
indelibly etched in consciousness
since being knee-high,
each of us sought safety secured
snuggled in the bosom of mommy dearest
in an effort to thwart the bogeyman,
whose breastworks did protect and electrify
with severe shock
aforementioned unwanted intruder.
Even as an older kid shelter sought
against adversity climbing into bed
particularly our favorite parent's side
to skedaddle away from wild things
roam'n the hallways
nightmarish creatures prowled
even bravest in the family did dread
of course when lights flicked on
they (scary fiends) fled,
no matter monsters
solely residing in the head,
especially if male offspring
sung at length about courtesy
Eminem and Rihanna
and christened Jed
(which from the Hebrew
translated means beloved of god)
the second or "blessing" name
given by God
through the prophet Nathan
in infancy to Solomon,
second son of
King David and Bathsheba,
whose steely mettle
exemplary existence he led
I prized, honored, coveted,
et cetera his as a newlywed,
when me and the missus our troth we pled
unwaveringly, unstintingly, unhesitatingly,
and unconditionally accepted
the marriage vows read
to us courtesy Henry J. Schireson
a Pennsylvania magisterial district judge
for Montgomery County Magisterial District
nevertheless yours truly
violated sacred covenant,
and traipsed, tiptoed, and tallied
with weed wacker through the tulips
(analogous for illicit extramarital liaisons),
where angels feared to tread.
Courtesy William Congreve's
'The Mourning Bride' (1697) I quote
"Heaven has no rage
like love to hatred turned,
nor Hell a fury like a woman scorned."
The permanent contra dance partner
accepted viz justice of the peace
legal asseveration as thee wife
July twenty twenty fifth
nineteen ninety six
none to pleased to discover visa vis
her husband prided himself
on discreet rendezvous,
which multiple escapades
donning Lothario role,
nevertheless found yours truly
inexplicably witnessing himself,
albeit non verbally communicating
courtesy tactile pillow talk
while I situated myself
er lied supinely as Phil Anderer
on the right side facing
nexus, lexus and lectus
which last mentioned word
could be single bed for one person
or double for a couple;
sometimes made of bronze
and often made of wood
and decorated with moldings
of mother of pearl or bronze,
and animal-like legs:
the more simple ones
constituted of terracotta.
Said aforementioned experience
being Casanova went awry
major adjustment to appease
and whet appetite of paramour
lost moxie to do the wild thang
after premature ejaculations
plus fount of endearments went dry
guilt riddled conscience
(people who have been chosen
from the general public
to listen to the facts about a crime)
dick read hung jury
namely cuz intercourse consummated,
which unbridled coital fricassee
clamored to alleviate celibate state,
an August occasion even
during dead of winter ~2010
frisky antics betook me,
(who convinced married gal
I met thru Craigslist personals)
to infamous “cock rock”
at Valley Forge National Park
schlepping over and across
knee deep ice and snow,
one horny goat
to attain orgasmic Harris fulfillment
didst precariously vie.
Although adultery, cupidity,
felicity, infidelity, et cetera
undermined, ostracized husband,
hijacked harmony, and
aggravated twenty seven years
of potential wedded bliss
(even harder to bring to fruition
than conceiving offspring),
neither the missus nor myself
(the mister re: man, an android at heart)
could not succumb to our slumbers
baiting, counting, dreaming
of electric sheep futile
upon testing, jump/kickstarting,
experimenting, et cetera
whereupon I lied supine upon
the left side (facing the bed),
and she attempted
to await the dream weaver
comfortably sprawled out
on the right side,
yet both of us wide awake
after the bewitching hour,
henceforth we resigned ourselves
as creatures of habit
to reclaim zzz land territory.
Copyright ©
Matthew Harris
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