Cold nights

It's really cold today,  and I've been thinking back to those pre-central heating days in the 60s, when it was too cold to get up in the night,  even if I could have escaped from the bedclothes tucked in tight by my dad. 


My lips rub against the soft, pale pink bedspread,
Stretched tightly over the padded quilt, 
The blankets, the sheets, all holding me in place:
My dad, tired of my complaints about the cold
Has lifted first one side of the mattress
Then the other,  tucking me in so tight
I'm flattened under its tautness.
There's ice on the inside of the window, 
A long dark landing should I need the toilet, 
But my bed and night terrors hold me in place.
I try to make sense of the darkness, 
To turn monsters back into my dressing gown
Hanging on the back of the door,
Their angry hissing and popping, back into the gas fire 
Burning with a blue flame on the wall. 
Its hiss makes me drowsy,  lulls me to sleep,
In the safety of my cocoon. 

© Copyright 2022. Chris Auger. All Rights Reserved.

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