Walking with a bed
By Sandra Gail Teichmann

Walking with a bed

over one’s head. Excuse me, but
it does happen. A bed, no, not just any
bed, but one’s own bed does dominate

one’s life, be it sleep for one third of each day

or sex or better yet a lie down for that dream

that just might be what is really real.

We can’t go without it, the bed.
Moving, we load it last into the U-Haul
for first unloading at the new home

where we’ll lie for naps, for talks, for exhaustion.

We make them, our beds, we wash them,

we squeak and we squeal them, we lump them,

we do love them, the beds we’ve made.