It’s late when I fall into bed,
my bed,
the one that I built.

“Order by lunctime, deliver by bedtime.”

They don’t tell you that it comes
in five separate boxes.
Two bags of nuts and bolts,
doweling rods,
Alan keys,
and a small sheet of paper
with a list of contents on the front
and instructions on the back.

It took over two hours
(and four hundred curses)
but I’ve done it.

Experimentally,
I lie across the bed.
Diagonally.
I stretch out my arms and legs
into a star shape.
I grab the whole duvet and wrap myself up in it.

I can hear snoring from the next room.
It sounds wrong.
Through the walls,
the tone is different.

I look at the ceiling, and wonder what I have done.

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