17

COMING SOON

I knock on the door as I turn my key
But there’s no answer except the scratch
Across the floor of the Boston Terrier,
So solid, so ugly, so curious, so polite.
10:30, or so it says on the VCR
In the lit front room. The kitchen/bedroom
Is dark, and silent. Are Todd and Carrie out
For the night, or just out? It is spring,
And it is snowing, and the wind chime
In the street is so persistent I half expect
To see a glockenspiel being played by a monkey
In a little cap – but no, only crushed cans.
I don’t hear any breathing, or other sleep noise.
It’s 10:43, and somehow I am still me.