September Poems

Embracing Failure

Lying in bed at 2 am, there's a throb
on my pillow of a slow pulse.
I turn to the right and it goes away.
Ear wax had captured my heart

and, as my wife rolls right, too,
at my turning, I remember
that sleep's better than failure,
as I hear her begin to snore.

Having thus failed, the zoo panda
did too, I'd read earlier in the night--
I began this poem but now am
struggling by muted flashlight,

to be finished with it and its
excoriating intimacy, its
refusal to go away, I'm
not liking the taste of, um,

well failure once again and,
because I shifted my feet,
they are colder than my
wife's feet and that's

disconcerting!

I lie back and hear a drum
of light rain upon our roof.
There's no rainbow of hope,
not at 2:30 am, unless, unless...

and I do, I really do, get out
with the flashlight and open
the door to the porch to spray
beams all around me
but no rainbow appears,
no cuddle from my wife
and there's this poem that
you have stopped reading

by now, haven't you?
Failure is not fatal
but it sure spoils
a good sleep
and better poem!

Ron Wiseman   © 22/09/12