I've Been Thinking

My bed loves a submissive attitude. I begged it again last night.
It argues the cliché, Early to bed, early to rise. I don’t listen.
What does it know about exhaustion? I crawl beneath the comforter.
It’s usually correct. Four AM is an inhumane time to begin the day.
I lie there, half asleep, like you, thinking in the shrouded void of darkness.

What good is thinking at this early hour, I question?
The thoughts become a herd of feral cats. I attempt to corral them.
They scatter to the margins. I coax them back, one at a time, these vagrant thoughts.
They taunt me, screeching, scratching, hungry for attention.
I grab one by the neck, it evaporates. Then another. It’s a ghost in my fist.

I curse them. Avatars of advertising move in with color videos, promises of paradise.
Carnival Cruise teases, only $199.99 round trip.
Beaches, sunshine, cabanas, martinis and people, all smiling, smiling.
Did you know all Americans are happy people, always smiling? Look at magazines.
I think this because I saw a man with a titanium hip smiling in a magazine.

The copper roof reports the weather…rain. I listen intently, thinking about rain.
I think of my mother, after her stroke. She loved rain, said it was good for farmers.
But I would argue with her that it’s bad for picnics. We never reached consensus.
Have you ever thought about rain? The Chinese did, centuries ago, inventing umbrellas.
They don’t have to think anymore. It rains money there. Our money.

Oops, Bad mistake. Left the door cracked. The ‘money thought’ stumbled in.
Have you ever seen a money thought? I have. It’s ugly, unkempt, a gang member.
It wears an IRS tattoo on its chest.
All other thoughts become hostages, cringing in fetal positions, fearing discovery.
The Carnival Cruise palace sinks, the house explodes, sleep vaporizes.

The dogs bark. It’s now six. Thoughts disappear into the gloom. I abandon the bed.
I think about my thoughts. They become an unappreciated audience.
I leave their scornful stage. Their faces fade, then vanish.
I ask the dogs if they have thoughts. They do, showing me the food bin.
They eat, have no more thoughts to share.

I think I’ll get the papers. Grabbing the Chinese invention, I trek out.
The newspapers are soggy, again! I think, what kind of idiot thinks newsprint floats?
I think I know the answer... he hates his life.
I think I’ll call the newspaper, but I think he wants to get fired.
I glance at the headlines, “Fanny Packs, $1,995.” What are they thinking?

I think the dog’s needy, paws my leg, jumps into my lap.
I make a paper airplane from the front page of WSJ, sail it.
I think thoughts should be like that, harmless replicas of reality.
But these thoughts won’t pay the rent. Time to get serious.
I do, slowly stumbling to the black Mr. Coffee for caffeine.

Thick coffee grounds mix with the black brew.
I think I forgot the filter last night. I have a brilliant idea.
I dip some out, pretend to be a Gypsy, consult their morning’s message.
I think I hear Juan Valdez on his Columbian plantation thanking me.
I think thinking is dangerous. I quit.

Some people shouldn’t be allowed to think…ever. I think I’m one of them today!

Bud Hearn
February 10, 2010