The old man is bone tired

The old man is bone tired

His head nods

Down onto his chest

Before snapping back

Eyelids heavy

Another coffee please

He does try to keep awake

But these days

Lethargy is his only bedfellow

The newspaper

A pointless distraction

There is great effort

In the attempt to hold his gaze

On an open page

But the words appear to float

Switching position as he reads

Sentences deconstruct

Before his very eyes

Their multiple meanings

Though exposed as purely academic

Are nevertheless mesmerising

In their apparent complexity

Soporific

In the elliptical jumble of their

Genteel twists

The virtual universality

Of their intraspatial determination

To derive meaning.

He sighs

Nothing beats

The simplicity of a single syllable

The irony

In a word like dyslexia

He has tried to move on

To the crossword

But sleepiness

Is a three syllable word

And its meaning

Has begun to confuse

The point of slumber

Nothing holds the interest

After the third cup,

Not even caffeine.

The slump is slow

Though a little less than graceful

A loose sprawl across a table

In the corner

Forty winks

And forty more

A little nudge if he begins to snore

They have been good

To him so far.