Bedtime Story
by Wanda Coleman

Read an automated transcript.

bed calls. i sit in the dark in the living room 
trying to ignore them
 
in the morning, especially Sunday mornings 
it will not let me up. you must sleep 
longer, it says
 
facing south
the bed makes me lay heavenward on my back 
while i prefer a westerly fetal position 
facing the wall
 
the bed sucks me sideways into it when i  
sit down on it to put on my shoes. this
persistence on its part forces me to dress in 
the bathroom where things are less subversive
 
the bed lumps up in anger springs popping out to
scratch my dusky thighs
 
my little office sits in the alcove adjacent to 
the bed. it makes strange little sighs
which distract me from my work 
sadistically i pull back the covers 
put my typewriter on the sheet and turn it on
 
the bed complains that i'm difficult duty 
its slats are collapsing. it bitches when i 
blanket it with books and papers. it tells me
it's made for blood and bone
 
lately spiders ants and roaches
have invaded it searching for food

"Bedtime Story," by Wanda Coleman, from HAND DANCE by Wanda Coleman copyright © 1992 Wanda Coleman. Used by permission of Black Sparrow Press.