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I, Mattress

September 25

My heart is a warm pocket, in which I carry birthday wishes and what remains of a curious old man.

        

          Of the Buckley’s, I wondered which would better sing Hallelujah,

          Father? Son?

          of the muddied rivers that seized their young throats, I thought,

          of my own dark waters,

          of how, aged, I am beyond the tragedy of such angels

          and, should hope, 

          not to be found snared in the shallows,

          but rather, by tender hands,

          tumbled by luck and longevity, smooth as glass.

            

I Learned Today...

...that, while not particularly desirable, it is entirely possible to give your sideburns a Moe Cut.