Poetry

New Bedroom

On the return, we knew that the sun
waking us at 05:30 wouldn’t cut it.
The heat traced across our faces 
gave us headaches.
The bed was too low and when I’m bigger 
the rush to the loo would become a danger,
so we switched rooms


to somewhere dimmer and cooler, a little less bright,
where I could shuffle to relief in the night.
With peeling white walls and slat wardrobe doors
and slat blinds with knotty pulley chords.
The floor, just visible around the wedge of the bed,
will need muscle memory to navigate


and soon sleep strained through lumps
in the mattress will be slept strictly sideways.
On waking, only the back of your head or your eyebrows
will be visible, and I will smile.
In the middle of the night, when we are unaware,
your deeper grumble-snore will be the metronome
that we, the three of us, will breathe to.