No More Box-Spring Wibbles

Sleep’s ocean, that otherwise unclaimed watery continent,
Sometimes features bergs. Those glacial offspring, all tall
Intent, do disrupt the flow of fish, of whales, of schooners,
Steal sailors from nautical duties, rob passengers of relief.

Last week, you flipped the mattress, righted some rigging,
Adjusted all necessary ropes, chains, and tackle, insured
Quiet would cruise smoothly across nightmare’s jounces
Plus pleasure’s oscillations, dispelling our berth’s ripples.