Bedtime Story

What shall I tell you about tonight
other than that not five minutes east
there’s this old road half-covered in not-road,
where giant metal beanstalks hold up the sky
a blanket studded with distant magic,
where we can gather like imaginary animals
and count stars until we fall asleep,
where it will always be this way,
where there is no other way,
where no one closes your door
and shuffles down the hall
to do this or that
ad infinitum
piling up