DICK DAVIS

As soon as you wake they come blundering in

Like puppies or importunate children;

What was a landscape emerging from mist

Becomes at once a disordered garden.

And the mess they trail with them! Embarrassments,

Anger, lust, fear—in fact the whole pig-pen;

And who’ll clean it up? No hope for sleep now—

Just heave yourself out, make the tea, and give in.