Dellymari's Blog

The bed has a four thousand-dollar sinkhole. That’s okay because it’s made from organic cotton, and the latest luxury foam, so I am told,

And sold: A designer’s name assumed, heaven, on a medal base.

I maneuver precariously around its mountainsides searching a comfortable groove.

Around the clock I go: right hip connected to backbone, shoulder blade connected to neck bone, tailbone—with [all] its rattled nerves—sinks. . .a painful groin!

I’ve purchased the softest sheets to forget. Four varieties of pillows travel the night, side-to-side, over and back, onto a stomach hungering for dreams. Finally to the dead-asleep floor, useless!

I do not like to sleep in a box, or with a fox, but I’m sure it would be more comfortable—

Sheep come in the night and gawk with sinister smiles. The leader is confident, and possesses a salesperson’s face. Going over contracts and stipulations, I cry, “Baaah-baaah…. The gaping hole was not included!”

Still, I’m paying sales tax for it beyond a hundred day comfort guarantee.

Suddenly, I am terribly itchy. Duped—If only I had the recourse to shear those taunting wooly animals. I’d embarrass them like they have me—

Stripping them of their assets!

Maria Pisciotta-DellaPorte ©2017 All Rights Reserved