He flops around like a tuna on a boat deck,
sending shock waves across the mattress.
Left hip starts complaining,
fed up with being laid on too long.
Deep snores penetrate earplugs;
pillow over head only muffles slightly.
Frolicky kitten, escaped from his room,
pounces, then skitters across covers.
Bladder, filled to capacity,
demands to be released.
Now he twitches in deep slumber, kicking calf
that gave such problems on yesterday’s long run.
Lyrics start playing on loop in head,
today it’s Grace Potter and the Nocturnals.
Standing by bed, children mock-whisper
“Can we play Wii? Can we, can we?”
Family, it’s Sunday, the day of rest—
And Mom’s one morning with no workout.