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After Midnight

the only time i really like suburbia is at night,
when everyone and everything is still.
the kids are in their beds,
their handlers are at rest,
the drunks are in their heads,
crashing down with the wind.
me, i’m leaning out my window,
alternating sip of wine with puff of square,
my mind spinning and my eyes wide,
contemplating with a pen in my pocket
and my right hand at my side.
pages burn and scatter,
fingers turn and pitter-patter,
the keys will eventually fall,
and the screen will fill,
small indentations, growing impatience,
i can never fill them all.
the leaves begin to part
from the roots in which they start,
and i’m still here, dreaming.

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Probably written after midnight.

Tags

cigarettes, suburbia, poetry, alcohol

raven-haired weirdo rush hour troubadour

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Comments

  • Nancy Ames
    Nancy Amesover 4 years ago

    This is very good, an absorbing and highly literate description of the kind of moment that most of us can find both familiar and full of potential. Quite inspiring, I think.

  • Thanks, Nancy! Full of potential is a good thing.

    – Luisa Zajko

  • Chris1249
    Chris1249over 4 years ago

    I know that time of day. When I was young and full of life those midnight solitudes when it was me and the pen against the encrouching ghosts of night and the only battle was to find the next word before the silence. Now I take the early mornings before any begger has thought to hit the road. Where the silence of night gives way to the broadening day, and before the executive suits have swilled the last coffee before the train my work here is done.

  • This response is a poem. Hah. “…the only battle was to find the next word before the silence.” Amen to that. The only time I’m full of life is when I’m writing or singing. It’s about time I did something with that.

    – Luisa Zajko

  • Chris1249
    Chris1249over 4 years ago

    I’m also reminded of Ella Fitzgerald Black coffee

  • Oh, Ella. That is one of my favorites.

    – Luisa Zajko

  • Bobby Jewel
    Bobby Jewelover 3 years ago

    nothing good happens before midnight
    unless its still happening

  • True story.

    – Luisa Zajko

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