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.
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.