Dream Diary Of A Widower

I dreamt we were animals
In a glass menagerie
Owned by Marie Antoinette.
People in wigs would come and see
Us perform a pirouette.

I dreamt we were making
A red felt wallchart
For tracking the bell-curve appearance
Of noses in modern art.
They were retrouse.

I dreamt we lived in a trailer
For a popular film matinee,
It was handy for the hotdogs
But it was only rated PG.
And had a lot of explosions.

I dreamt we were from Dalmatia
And had gone to the Doc for our shots
Because whatever we did
We always came out in spots.
He recommended camomile.

I dreamt you placed your lips to mine
And my hand caressed your hair
But then my alarm-clock woke me up
So I kicked it down the stair.
And wept because you were not there.

I dreamt a lot of drivel
And a lot of stupid stuff
But I always dreamt you near me
And the dreams are not enough
For me to see you clearly any more.

For when I wake I always think,
Of course you’re at the shops,
Or getting a haircut or seeing a friend,
Or teasing me by staying out ‘til the end,
Not lying quite still in a box.

I don’t want to dream any more.


Simon BJ [23rd May 2009 post]