Poetry
Felix Thursday
Forecast
Night has out-willed the day screech
of birds and machinery.
We lay in bed, twisted together
atop the sheets.
Holding embers between our fingers,
while the cats leap
tentatively at the windows,
confused and nervous.
I drag my cigarette outside and stand
naked in the mist that hits the porch.
Watching the rain smack the pavement
like millions of tiny suicides.
The end will come.
It will come in tears.
Then climb back into bed with mud and grass
stuck to the soles of my feet.
Listening to the silence,
three nude voyeurs watching dawn
disrobe through the curtains.
