It's 1 A.M.

January 11, 2008
By Gregory Wajda, Arlington Heights, IL

And hinges pepper along
With their tambourine hiss.

Rice starts to cook,
And book stacks embody every nook.

A basement nightlight
Has a shank in its glow,
Many hours before this,
How a young boy once turned
That on his head,
In order to fall into sleep.

A fish tank lurks in the corner
Of the room,
On a stool,
Left on our
Once brightening doorstep.
The knocker banged
Once that day.
Who knew we even had one?

Surprised and beguiled,
The family strove on awhile,
Short on wisdom,
And able to strap on faces,
While wielding steel Jefferson’s
And affixing high hazy haircuts.
Their golden key did unlock,
As they all did,
Because they needed,
But who they didn’t need
Erected a pile
Stabbed a steel pole through
His patched up satchel,
And escaped family meatloaf.


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