A POEM - SLEEPING IN THE BEDS I MADE FOR MYSELF

SLEEPING IN THE BEDS I MADE FOR MYSELF
Back then, after me and my girl had broken up,
I’d make my rounds to my favorite bars.
Eventually I’d end up at the one I worked at,
This sporty type of bistro
That nobody ever went to.
Towards the evening I’d tell the bartender,
“hey, I’m gonna go upstairs and sleep for a while.”
He’d nod and say, “sure,”
and I’d open the door and walk to the upstairs bar
that was only open on certain nights of the week.
I’d go over to the pool table and pass right out.
Later in the night, at closing time,
the manager who’d come in would wake me up and say,
“hey, kid. you want a ride home?”
I’d look around, figure out where I was and mutter,
“if you’re headed that way, sure.”
I could sleep anywhere during that time and I did.
pool tables, hardwood floors, couches, lawns, sidewalks.
Some mornings I’d wake up on a bench in a laundromat,
The washers and dryers whirring away.
I’d have the thought,
lying in some dirty grass in the afternoon sun,
“when you’re tired of life, you can just sleep anywhere.”