Sleep is a stranger to me
We met in a bar once, sleep and me
I bought him a drink
He bought me a Turkish coffee and a little stale danish.
We laughed a lot, though I can not remember now what we actually talked about
(It was a little while ago)
I do remember the patterns in the wood of the bar, the way the old coots down at the other end were having a replay of a bitter argument that had been going on for a good forty years; something about wives and children…and loyalties there-in, absences and omissions.
I remember the smell of stale cigars and cheap whiskey, though there was no one drinking whiskey or smoking cigars that night.
And I remember the teeth of sleep, looking remarkably bright and sharp in the dim amber light, flashing easily with smiles and laughter.