Bedtime

You always fought a courageous battle against sleep
like the night watchman of some medieval village,
nodding then snapping your eyes open
hoping not to see the torches or hear the footfalls
of an advancing army in the mist.
There always was one more question to be asked,
the worry that something was going on that would escape your notice

Twelve years from now
it will be my battle, looking at the clock and wondering if steamy windows
and a warm back seat are preventing you from making your curfew
I will snap back the covers or bang a pot with a wooden spoon
to get you out of bed before noon and
remind you to cut the lawn.

Tonight though, my friend
I will stand beside you on this wall
We will lean on the hilts of our swords and
tell stories, squinting past our fire into the gnarled hands of fog
keeping the village safe from enemies real and imagined.