An old poem

One Morning

I wake up thinking of two-person beds
Mysterious laughter during fantasy pillow fights
Hard versus soft
And people dancing in classrooms

I get up
Brush my teeth
As the waltz of a kiss and a hug plays
And I actually sing along
Even with toothpaste foam
Sputtering from my mouth
Next would be the song about the drunk
Who had nothing better to do
But I have to leave

I go out
In my striped sneakers
Watching the squares of sidewalk
Pass beneath my feet
A great blank comic strip
Where Nothing is funny
Especially when leaves and bugs
And my footsteps are added to it

Those panels--
Such neat, perfect containers--
I could spread my dreams
Into them
So they would stay in their places
Stop mixing with the real dreams I've lived
But it's hard when
In them both
Everyone keeps telling me the same things