Regrets

Why sleep
when I can write?
Sleeping's for sissies
I always say.

But I don't mean it
I know I should try
and would if I could so
out goes the light.

Then all my regrets
come bumbling in,
turn on the light and
make themselves comfortable.

Uninvited, one leans
on the empty pillow
facing me
with snide eyes

A couple more
begin to sit
at the foot of the bed
without decorum

I have to shift
my knees, feet quickly
An elbow jabs
me in the back

While others hover
with bad breath
and look at me
expectantly

Now who's the sissy?
one seems to chide
Shoulda, Coulda, Woulda
the introductions go

They think they're more
entertaining than they are.
Don't you all have
a bus to catch?

Don't you have
somewhere to be
at three-eighteen
in the morning?

Shove off, bubs.
I have work to do
and you weren't so special
to begin with.