Another on a.m.
Another slow spin
of fan.
Sleepless shadows
flicker.
Violins play low.
I hear THEIR sounds
again.
Eleven thirty stereo gone now
and the cops may or may not
have come.
A loud choking sound
rises up through the floor.
Some angry speech
and a young boys cries.
For some reason
I think about all of my past lovers
one by one.
For a moment
I feel as though I’m lying
in a bed at the Motel 6
by the Gulf of Mexico
on South Padre Island
where I vacationed
three years back.
The memory is pleasant
it overtakes me for a moment.
I even smell the ocean air.
One thirty a.m.
It’s Italian Opera now.
Nothing from below.
Another child is silent.
Another candle flickers,
fades away,
another darkness is.
1996
By sextonpoet
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