The dark outside has made the windows mirrors.
Slight chill curls around my legs, a shark
that visits when I fret. The hope that keeps
me bundled tight is knotted twice but fraying.
All my friends self-medicate. I do
the same: strong coffee in the morning, stronger
beer and sometimes scotch at night. My wife
has got a shoe that squeaks. I hear it now,
and now the clicking of a leash’s metal
lobster-claw. We walk. The moon’s no help:
it only makes the dogs go loco. Now where
drifts to nowhere. Whine of tires on
the nearby interstate crescendos, ebbs,
then rolls and darkens like the ocean’s moan.
Thomas Zimmerman teaches English, directs the Writing Center, and edits The Big Windows Review https://thebigwindowsreview.wordpress.com at Washtenaw Community College, in Ann Arbor, Michigan, USA. His poems have appeared recently in Rasputin: A Poetry Thread, Pulp Poets Press, and Nice Cage. Tom’s website: https://thomaszimmerman.wordpress.com/.