My father would often say “short naps are great!”
Usually, when referring to moments when his inattention to something became embarrassingly apparent.
Short naps are great, for all intensive porpoises.
A quick rest here.
Grab a cot there.
Head down on desk, earbuds on stun.
Phased out, tuned out.
The inability to control consciousness would strike my mother, from time to time.
Sometimes she’d fall asleep with a live Newport in a variety of knuckles.
A supple snoring burn.
Glowing red, burrowing wormholes in woolen housecoats.
Surrendering mostly good clothes to good will is not as therapeutic as it might sound.
How many burnt holes decides the usefulness of a garment?
The rain still soaks through, even when you use an umbrella.
Especially, when you are cleaning out the rooms of a loved one that succumbed to the dirt nap.
Note: dirt nap is not a short nap.
The long nap, as it were, is, and will ever be.
Short naps are great, but…
sometimes you wake up less refreshed.
Waking rage. Sleep walking daze.
Turn of phrase, to say…
short naps, aren’t that great?
A very special thank you, to my parents, for turns of phrase, worries, and life lessons from beyond the dirt nap. True compasses, evermore.
40/40: Summer Poem Slam-a-bam is a project in which people have joined me for 40 days and 40 nights of on-demand poetry. They have submitted the concepts, ideas, and subjects; I’ve done the rest.