Life Of A Deathbed

It sits against the wall
Waiting to be stripped.
Stuffed with more memories
than springs, it's a living thing,
a stern but compassionate 
relation who mopped up the sweats
of childhood sickness, first love
fevers, and the blood which attended them.
Passive voyeur, it laid the foundations
For frequent, languid midnight couplings,
Labour pains, breaking waters
And the unanticipated
Puke of the first-born.
Like a sympathetic nurse,
I allow myself a few
Moments to ponder the empty space.
Unheard by human ears, the pillows
scream their ingrained suffering.
Scott McFarlane