The Wrong Side of the Bed

I remember Agog on the wrong side of the bed.
He was my little brother--he kicked me in the head
almost every morning when the sun began to rise;
often I would find his little toes between my eyes.

I remember Agog hogging all the blankets, too.
Mom would wish us a good night, but ere the night was through
Agog would manage to get the blanket and the sheet;
I would wake up thinking I was sleeping in the street.

One time Agog had a dream when I was half asleep;
because of all his thrashing, the bedding was a heap.
Agog was just skin and bones yet somehow found a way,
to cause me to fall out of bed like a lump of clay.

O Agog, you had your side of bed in which to doze.
But how many times I had to reckon with your toes!
In the morning ‘fore the sun would bless us with its heat,
I would get a wake up call from little brother feet.

My one aim was to attain the sleep of R.E.M.
Yet brother Agog had own of-the-night anthem.
Instead of R.E.M, Agog had his own notion;
it turned into R.A.M.--rapid Agog motion.

I recall the many dreams of football now and then.
Playing Agog through the night--he was the last of ten.
With my other brothers I played football in the light;
but Agog had his own way to block me in the night.

I remember how I used to long for my own spread,
since so many times Agog was off-sides in our bed.
In those days of contact sleep when bedsides would collide,
how I longed to keep my manic brother on his side!

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