In Bed With Boys When I was small arthritic in my crib I knew Spainards wanted sleep While Americans merely needed it Now on warm summer days Boys nip at my neck Their hands, to sweaty to hold And their backs wetting the bed Boys in bed Boys on the bed Their heads roaring on pillows And their feet twitching in sleep I got boys who speak Latin in their dreams Boys whose faces land in books Who must be coaxed to the covers I got European boys who like cold rooms And those that like the bushes I got boys who think they're famous And boys who call me sir Boys who are shaped like z's Then snap straight when an avalanche of sun comes through the window And in winter, they're rolled in sheets That unfurl in the morning And fill the room with skin