Three feet off the floor, moored by borrowed sheets, I float on a waterbed ocean.
Calm seas, until I roll over - slosh - and we're off again,
sailing past high-gloss walls grey as late November.
Calm seas, until I roll over - slosh - and we're off again,
sailing past high-gloss walls grey as late November.
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A cold north window wind carries us the three blocks down to the Forum, drives us up over the blue line. All hands to deck! Hard fore-checking, chipping it in around the headboards, pressing our home ice advantage; the waterbed and I cast wide our nets. We trawl the seas all, run rum down the runnel of the hall. The stuccoed ceilings whip up a frothy squall. Sound the alarm clock! There's an iceberg off to starboard; my roommate is one cold bitch. But I don't mind. When her boyfriend ditched her he left this waterbed behind. |
