The Spring by Laurie Atkinson

I’d slumbered all the night-time

and soon the bell would ring

when with a stab I was awoken,

awoken by a spring.

A spring had pierced the mattress

sometime when I was sleeping

and now where just soft sheets had been

a sharpened point was peeping.

Well this was a catastrophe!

Now, I’m not an early riser,

but I didn’t sleep again that morning

nor that evening either.

In fact a week of wide-eyed nights

I spent thanks to that spring.

I’d toss and turn and tumble

but, yow!…It stuck right in.

I’d been prod one too many times,

something had to be done,

so I flipped the mattress over,

I thought the spring was gone.

No luck, not a night had passed,

(this spring was not for turning)

it wriggled through; by 6am

my, oochyabugs!…was burning.

Next, more drastic action,

I gave that spring the hump.

Seven layers of gaffa tape;

the spike became a lump.

But a lump can spike I quickly learnt,

so bear in mind their feelings,

I didn’t and had all night to pay,

staring at the ceiling.

But as I lay there staring,

I wondered still if we

couldn’t all sleep here together,

this bed, the spring and me.

And in fact with some persistence,

and a well placed pillow case,

that spring and I, we came to lie,

for weeks at once at peace.

Some time ago it all seems now;

the Summer’s come and gone,

and where was spring is Autumn,

where was a spike is none.

I rest at ease on mattress soft,

though strange and with new covers,

I wake sometimes and still I think,

I’m lying on the other.

But no, I shift and shuffle, slide,

I still can’t feel a thing,

I look up to the ceiling

and long for the spring.