leaves on his bedroom light;
brightly artificial
with an open door.
It’s not that light dispels
shadows or ghosts. No, no,
it’s to illuminate a way out
and wobble for toilet relief.
I, an older man, holding onto courage
know how darkness has wasted me,
yawning like a zero
with deep sleep a matter of
snoring and lost opportunity
until, eventually, the fuss will be over,
word and wobble.
Last orders.
Lights out.
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