This table is a bed

I wake up this morning and Colin is asleep at the kitchen table. His pillow is his notebook. An army of Milwaukee's Best stand huddled around his head. I don't wake him up right away. I don't nudge him and say, "Colin, it's time for work." Instead, I do the morning routine. Feed Rex. Start the coffe. Get the paper from the driveway. The usual.

When I finally sit down at the kitchen table with my bowl of cereal, Colin twitches. His head snaps to left and he sends a couple of his Milwaukee's Best crashing to the kitchen floor.

"Good morning," I say.

Colin doesn't say anything. He picks up the cans off of the floor and sets them back on the table.

"Sleep well," I say. "You looked comfortable."

Colin nods his head yes and runs wipes his face with his hands. He stands up from the kitchen table. He asks if I bought him shaving cream. I tell him that I did and that it's in the medicine cabinet.

Colin walks past me and towards the stairs. His feet are dragging. He still has his work shoes on from yesterday.

"Did you get much work done last night," I ask him, shouting. He is walking up the stairs.

"A little," he says.

I finish my cereal and put the bowl on the floor. Rex likes finishing my milk. I pick up the empty beer cans and put them next to the sink. I sit back down at the kitchen table and look at Colin's notebook. The page that he was using as a pillow has some lines on it. It reads:

This soldier can find no peace on leave

This soldier can find no peace on leave.
The screen door banging and the contractor's hammer
ring throughout this entire neighborhood
and this body.

C. Binton

I close the notebook and put it on the counter. I hear the shower kick on upstairs. I wonder who the man is getting into it.