We walk up the stairs
and I feel tired already
by the game of hide-and-seek
that you will ask me to play
before we brush your teeth
and though I usually love
making up stories
in the cave of your bed quilt
about the witch named Gaggle
and her owl that flies to the moon
tonight I wonder
what it would be like
if we were the kind of parents
who kissed foreheads
and left
so I suppose
you read the weariness
of my slump
or maybe it was because
your dad just got back
from his trip
but you announce
in a straightforward way
mom isn’t very good in bed
which we both agreed later on
after a particularly good story
where the owl shows mercy
to the mice on the moon
that I am quite good in bed after all.