Eight Hours

James R. Ford
Head on a pillow
toes pointing towards God
the lights from traffic
swirl around the room

You're dreaming of me
I'm on my white horse
dressed in a suit of shining armor
holding a pizza box
and a two liter bottle of Diet Pepsi

I'm dreaming of you
you're barely dressed
your hair's a mess
but you love me

You ask me to swim
you're calling me Jim
On a boat, folks are speaking French
you call them Parasites
and we laugh

Sunlight enters the room
eyes open, then close
another morning in America
eight hours have passed
and I'm still dreaming.
.

Published by James R. Ford

Born and raised in Boston, MA, James is an accomplished, published author. He has published many articles, short stories, and prose on AC/YCN since 2007. He has edited, and directed, many programs for telev...  View profile

7 Comments

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  • Jeanne Baney7/25/2010

    Fun poem!

  • James Ford7/11/2010

    Thanks for comments. Dreams are strange, reality is sometimes stranger. Don't eat dill pickles before bedtime. They enhance dreams and may cause unwanted (or wanted) desire.

  • A. J. Kramer7/10/2010

    If you were writing this from the Mountain Time Zone, there'd be eight hours between you and Paris.

  • Magena Fawn5/13/2010

    My knight in shining armor always delivers pizza in 30 minutes or less!

  • Donna Thacker5/11/2010

    A white horse and pizza! What a guy...

  • Deborah Oakes, NPS5/11/2010

    Awwwwwwwww, how romantic AND whimsical....love it!

  • David Lanier5/11/2010

    Cool :)

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