The School of Naps
A nap on the farm was as common as a two-headed sheep.
This is why Meredith never learned to nap.
I, on the other hand, was encouraged to dream whenever
I wanted. In naps or in nap-like afternoons I smothered
in imagination. An only child is the parent of its parents,
a dictator with a small bedroom. I guess they had coherence,
those days in the close suburban yards and modest shrubberies
when I imposed my will on my impractical, summery
family. I’ve always had trouble getting things done since.
I seem to be walking along a floor mounted on springs.
When you’re happy you have a responsibility to those who are unhappy
to do your best with it. Even if it ends badly.
Most of my choices are bad and good interspersed,
like wearing a motorcycle helmet while riding a horse.
| Erik Kennedy |
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