Sofas
My name is Bogie and I love to sleep
For 10 hour intervals you won’t hear me peep
On the floor or in my bed
But not on the sofa my strict mother said
The sofa is a forbidden place
Full of white linen pillows for planting my face
I have dreams of summiting it one day soon
And when I do I’ll lay there until at least noon
When my mother leaves for work
The house becomes mine and there I lurk
At the base of the sofa looking up
Will today be the day? I think to myself, “yup”
In one hop and a little wiggle I begin to sink
Into the cushions that actually might be clouds I think
I gently close my eyes and begin to drift into a land
Where every dog has his own sofa by the beach in the sand
Surely my mother won’t mind
When she comes home to find
A cozy little bulldog
Gently snoring on the sofa, not unlike a hog
A poem by Bogie
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