Memory Foam

by Monty Reid

It’s garbage pickup today, the green bins and the mattresses
are out on the curb.

It’s spring, and no one is sleeping comfortably.

Crows get there first, and peck the stuffing out, and your dreams
recycle in the hygienic breeze.

All winter they made love on these mattresses. Whoever they are.

They snored and drooled and called out the names of those they needed,
both absent and nearby.  Some lay awake for hours.

Some had no names to call.  And still, the mattresses took their good bodies
and whispered them into sleep.

It’s true, they remember the past, not the future, so at some point
you need to replace them.

It’s Monday, early, and the trucks are getting closer.
You can hear the engines rev and idle as the hydraulics bite down

on what’s left of the mattresses. Get out of bed
now, it’s time.

— from Juniper Volume 2, Issue 2