Poem: A Small Dark Island

Having slept with my fountain pen
I wake to ink-stained sheets.
When I take them off I discover
the mattress is stained also.
The sheets I throw in the wash
but find myself hesitating to take
a wet sponge to the mattress.
The stain looks exactly
like a small dark island.
I hate to disturb its tranquility.
I’d rather give it a name.