What do you do when sitting there
with feet propped up in your easy chair
or sitting in that Sunday pew
with others looking right at you
and those eyelids begin to droop
as your shoulders start to stoop?
It isn’t really very odd
that as your head starts to nod
you blink your eyes and shake your head
and move your numb leg that feels dead
then as time continues to creep
you find you’re almost back to sleep.
You pick up something from the floor
to wake you up before you snore
you fight to keep your eyes open wide
so your wife won’t jab you in the side
and nonverbally put you down
with her very expressive frown.
Perhaps a bathroom trip will do
but you go to sleep before you’re through
and you wake up looking at your feet
and find your way back to the seat
but almost let out a loud curse
when you trip over your wife’s big purse.
When you finally leave the place
the preacher smiles in your face
as you say the sermon was great
you put more in the collection plate
and drive home and find your chair
and finish doing your sleeping there.
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Amusing and nicely written poem!