The Animal

Artifax, Vol. 2.2 (1973)

Margaret Bratcher

Three a.m.
in separate rooms across the city:
our cigarettes glow
like signal beacons, not quite reaching.

We have hurt each other,
this time beyond forgiving.
Somewhere a siren wails
too late for help.

Our hurt crouches
howling in a dark corner,
waits for nightfall
to keep us awake.

We fill our emptiness with smoke,
and think how once
a late-night cigarette was shared
in the silence of a single room.

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