A Poem in The Meeting Brownlee Anthology


Blinds bend just enough
For me to peer out in the night.
Street lit with the help of heated halogen.

Children ripping
To the next well-lit house,
Too fast for their parents.

I return to the dark.
Not putting the television on.
Fearing it may give me away.

Carrier waves, cheerful waves.
My stereo, covert pleasure.
Toccatas & fugues flow from speakers in unseen corners.

My only source of light: an "Itty-Bitty Book Lamp"
Picked up at a Waldenbooks. Within its radius, its radiance I sit
Watching the LCD bars jump and twitch.

Wall of light and music.
Muffles the din
Of shifting sacks, in greedy hands.

Occasionally the door will bing, buzz or knock,
I punch the remote.
Willing them further away.