BOGEYMAN

Saturday night is not one of delight,
too often it becomes one of fright.
Dinner as always is franks and baked beans.
Followed by bath time and clean jeans.

Cortisol levels increase as bedtime gets near,
for fear that my Bogeyman will suddenly appear.
Early to bed, I toss and turn, I am unable to sleep
        until at last, I drift and float into the deep.

He came through the fog, jumped onto my chest,
Drooled in my eyes, he did not relent, disturbing my rest.
Two hands grabbed the pillow seeking relief,
muffled the sounds, quieted shouts, and hides my grief.

My eyes open. The bedroom is bright, a radio is bringing
the calming voice of someone singing.
        Bacon is grilling and induces a belly growl.
Ma hugs me and wipes the sleep from my scowl.
        .
“We can sit and eat soon,”  she said.
“Your old man stayed in bed.  Had a
fight and left the bar late.  He came home
        later.  Another typical Saturday night!”