Thursday, March 4, 2010

Static






By Elizabeth A. Hall


Matching double beds stare back
from the static screen, of the black TV
as I lay and tap the keys on my laptop.

My day was over hours ago
but the challenge is the night;
sixteen hours of idle time.

The butts in the ashtray pile high.
Distracted, I wait for your call.
I've listened to your doleful message,
repeatedly, there's no response to mine.

Water from a flimsy plastic cup
tastes like strange city.
I don't feel like getting up, instead,
crunch on the ice from the bucket;

drowning the sound of slamming doors
and traffic. Dinner is dispensed
from the first floor vending machine;
the finest cuisine a few coins can buy.

I have to ground myself for fear of shock.
A single setting on the heater; "hot and dry";
generates more static.

© Elizabeth A. Hall, 2010, all rights reserved.

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