slumber

It's your fourth hour

in front of the TV,

it's your fifth beer

to wash down a bowl of stale peanuts.

It's one o'clock in the afternoon.

Your wife has given you

a list of things to do but

how irrelevant they seem,

when time glides so easily by.

Your daughter is telling you

that you can't tell her what to do

and she's right.

So you don't.

You're empty so you fill

another wineskin,

and it's all you can think about

as you sit on the floor playing cars

with your son.

You can't kiss your wife goodnight

in case she tastes it

on your lips.

In the dark you toss

and in the day you wander

in a heavy slumber

while the world

passes by

like a shadow.