I couldn’t stop snoring
her over the edge
until she dumped
my sad ass apnea
my oxygen starved
sleep disordered
brain, my nose drone
dropping ordnance
over her dreamscape.

In Good Sam’s clinic, electrode
wires, color-coded dreadlocks
dangle taped to my head.
Pillow propped, I’m in bed
watching the nightly news:
President, first lady
two lovely children.

A nurse comes in—
hands me two pink Ambien
and a Dixie cup. Now
the doctors wait and watch
for my brain to open
the dream-bay doors.

In another hemisphere
lights go out
on a family of four
in a village west of Peshawar—
me left wondering