BED-IN

in the deep mid winter
as the watery orange glow fades from the sky
and darkness draws its curtain
the fireseed takes to his bed
laid low by a merciless virus
a ruthless bacillae
that squeezes his fevered brain hard up against his skull
fills his lungs with pleghm
floods his nasal passages with mucus
sets him all a-shiver and a-quiver
sets off his hacking cough
distracts and enfeebles his mind
laptop perched atop lap
he snuggles beneath the thick duvet
seeking warmth and solace
the sofa-bed that is never folded into a sofa
the con-juggle bed that he shares with his wife
and more often than not with his woodle
who stubbornly spurns her own sleeping arrangements
for a more mummified environment
the fireseed is sleepless too
for last night he slept fitfully
tossing and turning
visited by strange and troubling dreams
the next day he was still haunted
by the long emergency