Night, Not
       

I must apologize for bringing nothing
to this night but a pack mule's burden
of miscellany, bringing nothing but

floorspace and greetings recorded
on answering machines by entire families,
bringing nothing but a poor reaction,

creating brownouts in the apartments
where major life announcements
have hit their awkward silences; I am

in these apartments, in the silences,
grunting like the carrier of someone
else's suitcase, while, outside, rain,

like Billie Holiday, only improves
the ugly street, a shirtsleeve hacked
up on by black, weather-rheumy sky.

Think of all the children tonight,
for the first time asking to delay
bedtime and, met with cooperation,

suddenly seeing night as negotiable,
and how frightening to learn how
something can become variable like that.

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Copyright © 2021 Justin Runge All rights reserved
from Little Patuxent Review
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission