in bed by eleven

i'm no longer
getting home late.
coming in the back
door, tip toeing
through the
living room with
my shoes in hand.
i'm no longer
dousing the lights
of the car, and
turning the engine
off as i roll up
to the house, with
a bag of empty
bottles, the sun
peaking up behind
the woods. nope.
not anymore. i'm
done by eleven
these days, tucked
safe in bed
with a good book,
well except for when
you're around.