I woke up pancaked: naked, on my back,
and clobbered by a radiologist.
I must have been, because my friendly quilt
had turned lead-apron on me. Chin to toe
and edge to edge – a fat one: I was pinned.
So, mull. Had a gorilla chosen me
for a post-coital slumber? And if so,
should I remember something? Folks, I tried.
But it was just a blanket, lead-ified.
I scrutinized my options. Rescue seemed
unlikely. True, the chair and I were close.
He had his arms full, though, delivering
my last week’s wardrobe. Plus, he might well ask
how urgent was it: why not just stay put,
and make the bed feel useful? And besides,
somebody left this graphite drapery:
somebody strong. And I’m not wearing much.
In short, I think I’ll linger in the sack,
and hope the radiologist comes back —
If you have any comments on this poem, Kathryn Jacobs would be pleased to hear from you.