After Hours

By pictures of The family pet And other gems My eyes are met And yet to noise My focus turns The rhythm of A droning churn A whir above A hum below The tickers tick The heaters moan This silence of Electric breath Meets emptiness Of armchairs left And days turned nights And young men old Some kept alive And others sold By satellites I did not blame Until they too Had called my name My hands dance drunk A maid’s slow waltz And roughly cast My last in vaults The suitcase has Lulled all inside The task is gone I cannot hide In unison This room and I Fast flee our tryst Without goodbye