3 a.m.

Where’s the world at 3 a.m.,
when my eyes pop open
responding to a bladder,
that won’t allow
my last beer before bed,
the dignity
to sleep the night through;
when my arthritis
plays pinball with my
knees and elbows,
scoring double points,
and an extra ball
for striking all four at once;
when I slide my hand
across satin sheets to find comfort
in the touch of your warm skin,
only to be reminded
you’re sleeping
with someone else,
in another world at 3 a.m.

(all rights reserved Pat Paulk 2006)