The next poem, the second one of these poems about sleep,
is called "The Enemy."
It's a little different from most of those
I've read or will be reading.
"Strange noises on the roof woke me at dawn.
It sounded like someone trying to make off
with the brand new air conditioner, the heavy wrench
clattering on the asbestos roof.
Tired fingers found the switch, the thermostat's low hum,
assuring us the enemy was inside,
prowling some quarter of my head as I crouched,
afraid he might take things into his own hands.
Only a pair of tomcats snarling the rest of the night
until I smothered the enemy in my pillow,
neither of us dreaming we would meet."