Falling For a Narcoleptic
I used to think
that you found me boring,
you would ask me how my day was
and I would be half way through a sentence -
‘Well, I saw Julia and did you know….’
and I would look at you
standing there
still as a child playing war
pretending to be behind enemy lines
with deep controlled breath like a sniper
timed to mimic the softest of summer winds
whilst watching, patiently, for the highest ranked opposing officer
before one last out-take of breath coincides with your trigger finger
and one bloody mess,
and I would wonder for a brief moment -
‘is he sleeping, no… he can’t be sleeping’,
so I would nudge you and ask if you were listening
and your eyelids would bundle open like tank hatches
and life would appear emblazoned with medallion importance
on one of those uniforms that women find sexy,
‘Did you hear what I said?’ I would ask
and you would nod
charging into the next topic of conversation until my resolve broke
and I retreated into a sense of compliance,
but the truth of it was
you were never
quite
listening.
