Tim Connors, TESS 130
In the dry night, I hear your cry
A clearing throat followed by
High and low notes echoing around the room:
Of what do you sing?
The cockroaches you’ve gobbled down?
New love clambering through the canted window?
I have seen smaller bodies hidden behind the folding door
Young skin shed on tile floor
Little droppings left abandoned.
You deserve happiness beyond content.
The bugs never meander here, they sprint
Like soldiers to a foxhole from the looming bodies
Stationed on the walls.
That and more is worth the song you sing.
You don’t steal my food or force your way into my fridge,
You are the king of hiding and avoiding argument.
Fill the night with your melody, multiply a million-fold,
But please, stop scampering when I turn on the light.
You scare me in my sleepy state.
I’d like to know you, Rocky.
Stay awhile, and sing your song while I sing mine back.
We’ll share a meal, a beer, or stories of