Beds

A tender, crispy poem

People mostly are born in beds.
People mostly die in beds.
People mostly die of gooey hearts in bed.

I like to read in bed.
I really like to eat potato chips in bed.
My partner really doesn’t like it when I eat potato chips in bed.

You can guess why not:
Crumbs and ants and the sweaty, naked body.

My son was born in a hospital bed on the upper west side
He was rolling out so fast
The midwives flipped my legs over my head to slow him down
They instructed me to act like I was in yoga class
It was about 6:30 at night
My sweaty, naked body held plough pose
I looked out the window and saw all these people leaving their offices.

I told the midwives that I had to run.
‘I’m sorry, but I can’t stay to have the baby. I have to go home.’
Apparently, this is a thing.
Apparently, your body doesn’t want to give life.
Just like your body doesn’t want to die.

When my dad was dying, he asked for a bag of classic potato chips
to eat in his hospital bed on the upper east side
But I got tortilla chips by mistake
He died the next day, sorry.

He didn’t want to die.
He wanted to stay in bed and eat chips.

If this is also important to you
Please eat potato chips in bed today
And practice at least 2-3 times a week.

Your potato chips are organic
and will take up to 4 weeks to decompose.
Your mattress is organic
and will take up to 2 years to decompose.
Your body is organic
and will take up to 10 years to decompose.
Crunch, crunch.