Awoken by a snore turned to a grunt,
I'm shocked to find the snorer is myself;
I wriggle in my seat that's more a shelf,
pretend to spot the snorer up in front.
The woman next to me pretends to read,
but can't have been because all of my snoring
must have engulfed her like chained lions roaring
with shackled donkeys braying to be freed.
I think that I might talk a bit with her
about the book she is so tightly clasping,
but then I hear her breathing turn to rasping,
and catch myself and pause to reconsider:
She might be far too chatty. Or a bore.
She nods off and at once begins to snore.