Bunk beds
Typically I don’t really respond to poetry - I find it a bit lacklustre and overwrought, often I just prefer something more plot, character or narrative driven.
But one exception, to me, is the poetry of Billy Collins. He was the US Poet Laurete and has this incredibly mundane focus throughout his work. Poems he writes might be about how his imagination wanders when he is supposed to be writing, imagining what dogs think about or, one of my favourites, the best cigarettes he smoked.
In that poem he writes about different times he smoked cigarettes and thinks about which is the best. Possible after a meal? Or possibly in the dark, enjoying the illumination.
I encourage you to listen to him read the poems - his voice is so monotone it’s almost robotic, but I find it reassuring and hypnotic. I doubt you’ll have a better two minutes than listening to it.
For the past week I’ve been in the desert, staying at a conservation reserve, there I had a room to myself, and there were three bunk beds (so 6 beds total). One night my mind wandered and I started thinking about the last time I slept in a bunk bed, and I asked myself ‘what’s the best bunk bed I’ve been in?’.
My best friend growing up had a great bunk bed - hulking wood and sturdy - he loved the top so I got the bottom, that’s how I like it. I’d stay over a lot and we’d do lots of fun things together. That’s a contender, so maybe that’s the best bunk bed.
I can remember larger bunk beds that, as a young kid, we’d take one mattress off and jump from the top bunk onto the mattress. That was a lot of fun, but I can’t remember any specific bed, just the sensation of jumping.
At the beach house we’d rent in summer there were always bunk beds. Unlike most I sort of like the feeling of sand in the sheets - something slightly coarse but almost exfoliating. I don’t really understand people who hate sand, it’s great. Those were pretty good times so that bed stands out - all 70s orange, worn out sheets and way too many huntsman spiders lurking beneath it.
When traveling as a young adult many hostels I stayed had bunk beds - the best ones had curtains you could draw, blocking out the light from dorm-mates and providing a little privacy. I can remember these great ones in Taipei - like little chambers that were all your own. A power outlet, a shelf, a reading light and a curtain. Bliss for $10 a night.
I remember staying at a caravan park that had bunk beds stacked 3 high in a cabin. It was so squashed, I think I had to like roll over and half jump out to get down. That wasn’t the best.
One hostel I stayed at, a friend and I ended up with whole dorm to ourselves. We pushed two bunk beds head-to-head and had long conversations into the night while also feeling like we had infinite room. Probably that bunk bed is the best, or at least I think it was. We both had crushes on each other, it was a good trip and felt really special - having these hulking bunks everywhere yet we had a tiny little zone.
I like the space the bush allows me. I find when there’s less to do my imagination sometimes just wanders, takes me down a path I wasn’t expecting and, in my opinion, sometimes there is truly nothing better than just allowing your mind to take you were it goes.
Till next time.