week end

You sit with no lights on.

The city hums. Not to you,

but to no one and

everyone here. The day's

small talk is done with,

and you're thinking about sleep,

sleep is on your mind.

Not small talk. You can only

take so much workplace

banter, even if it's all right.

A day skipping over the

surface takes more.

More than you thought.

Now only the night speaks,

the lights sparkle slightly,

the fridge sighs, the fan

squeaks. The one roommate

is asleep. You wait for

a couple more seconds,

think about a smoke,

but simply closing the

eyes sounds like

real pleasure, almost

like hope itself. You smile.

How simple hope is

at this hour, and how

utterly uncomplicated.

The old monks said:

Go to sleep before witching-hour.

But you're too tired for

witching or even wishing

for much, other than sleep,

maybe a sandwich, or a

good night kiss. But you're alone

and too tired for witching,

so you smile, listening

to the soft static hiss.

The city hums,

the lights sparkle.

You'll probably even forget

to brush your teeth.