I’ve spent five nights this week
unmade and shivering.
Where have you been sleeping?
Have you found another,
softer and younger than me?

Your imprint is fading and
I miss your sweet weight upon me.
I’ve laid under you through innumerable nights—
you tossing and turning.
Laid under you each night because I have
nothing else to offer.

Will you make me look good again—
neat, warm and inviting?
I guess I’ll become a sleepless mattress,
a dusty mattress in a quiet room
waiting for you to come back to me.
Or will you put me out
with a sign that says I’m free?