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A Familiar Tune MAG
March 25, 2011
My bare legs slide between the smooth sheets of my bed.
Yawning, I absorb the crisp coolness
in the stuffy warmth of my room.
My house is dark and quiet, the silence
of a desert.
Cicadas buzz
through my screened window.
They are constant and unceasing:
the hum of 2 a.m.
Then the train:
something I expect
but savor,
breaking
the hum.
Like an owl, it is calm and muted,
whoo, whoo-ing
through the blackberry-colored night.
The flashing stoplights splash a
yellow yield
at even intervals across my eyelids
as the stars rain
down
upon my mind.
© Ashton D., Vincennes, IN
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