The rest of the world has decided to take a long nap, Sam.
So, while we sit here, our legs intersecting
like branches over a vaporous pasture,
or fluoride in the drinking water,
the heart drains repeatedly.
A thousand telephones go mute.
And from whichever way one looks
there are enough chairs to sit in.
Soon the dinner behind this beautiful story will be cold,
but the few who’ve listened will want to stay up
and talk a little longer, or if they have to go to bed
will want someone to read to them so they can sleep.
Originally Published in Cider Press Review, Volume 2.
