Overblown overnight metaphors

Last night, our bed:

became a diner’s order window Kate frantically posting green slips and me cooking on the line for two customers, by turns irate and sending back their soup No tips

became a steel cage sphere Kate and I standing at the very bottom, our heads perfectly centered as two motorcycle riders buzzed and revved in arcs around us No helmets

the fulcrum point of an oscillating teeter-totter became the stick on which to spin two plates became the single musical chair around which we all circled warily, dawn’s music playing slower and slower, but not stopping