The Bad Morning Came and Went

Too deep under the blanket, tangled,
it was funny, ha ha, I was stuck.
Forty times it looped, around my head
and down, around and down who
could it have been? Who 
wrapped me up like this? Who
saw me peaceful and, chuckle-it-up and
pop! You’re stuck. And so I was.
By noon it was a problem. 
I began to blame myself. I’m sorry
Mommy’s head is in this blanket,
it’s not your fault, you know
how grown-ups are. But secretly
I didn’t know. Perhaps it was. His fault.

But fault is not the proper
concept for a pickle such as
never breathing unfouled air
again. For such a pickle it had
become. My own wind blowing
in the microclimate of my new
and darkened life. Will I ever
laugh again? I asked the child but said
it’s not your job to know. But having
asked and referenced work he saw
the long sad hallway of his once
and future life I know he did, I know. 
It is my job to know, but see
I had this blanket on my head.
You’ll notice, with hope, I hope,
my past tense usage by this line.
Yes, I am using this unfettered form
to write from some near future time,
Hello! Well, I won’t bore you all
with what came next but know
this time next year will come
and I
will see you there.