Martyr

I’ve suffered your elbows,

your knees, and your hipbones

your sharp, cold feet, toenails,

your snoring and breath smells.

I’ve held you in nightmares,

confusion and sickness,

given in to your sleepy-eyed,

fumbling advances

I’ve covered your coldness

I’ve ached for your comfort

I’ve breathed in your chest hairs

and not once complained

But now as I tremble

on the edge of the bed

you peacefully sleeping

fluffy pillow ‘neath your head

I reflect on the fairness

of this vigil I keep

then say, “shove on over,

it’s my turn to sleep!”