Sated
I
hear him every
morning
at 2:00am, another restless soul who simply cannot sleep.
We
both feed on the
nourishment
we seek during these quiet hours when normalcy sleeps.
He
walks the halls,
pausing
before every closed door, listening for the steady sound of deep breathing,
souls
lost in slumber,
before
he moves on to his final destination, his true middle of the night calling,
the
hunk of ham in the refrigerator,
a tall
glass of milk to wash it down. My room being closest to the kitchen,
I
hear the scrape of the silverware
against
the porcelain of the plate. Little does he know I’m awake as well,
feeding
myself to fulfillment
in
the privacy of my room, my feastconsisting first of a warm appetizer of Collins,
to
be followed by an enticing
entrée
of Laux, and then topped off with a delectable dessert of both Kooser and Dunn,
a
favorable feast indeed,
for
I cannot rest until I am completely sated, deliriously delighted, wondrously full.
I would offer
to share my banquet
with he who walks the halls
looking
for his own late-hour
nourishment,
but I gather my meal of choice would no more gratify him
then
his would satisfy me.
Thus,
finally ready to retire as theclock approaches the three o’clock hour,
I
hear my friend as he sighs
and
ascends the stairs at last, sufficiently sated, ready for repose.
~~~
First published in Leaves of Ink
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