My son is about to wake up from his afternoon nap. Any minute now, he'll wake up and make little sleepy grumpy noises to let me know he's awake. I'll go in and hold him and rub his hair and tell him everything's okay and bribe him with some milk. See how much time I'm spending thinking about my son waking from his nap? A few minutes ago, I was pacing the apartment, thinking about how I wanted to do something but couldn't because there wouldn't be enough time to finish a task before the tiny tot woke up. Then, I realized: there's always time for poetry. So I read a poem, which was really bizarre. But I think it's pretty amazing actually. So here it is. What do you think?
Disillusionment of Ten O'Clock
by Wallace Stevens
The houses are haunted
By white night-gowns.
None are green,
Or purple with green rings,
Or green with yellow rings,
Or yellow with blue rings.
None of them are strange,
With socks of lace
And beaded ceintures.
People are not going
To dream of baboons and periwinkles.
Only, here and there, an old sailor,
Drunk and asleep in his boots,
Catches tigers
In red weather.
