Tonight's Poet Corner: Whisper When It's Midnight
Whisper When It's Midnight
by Belinda Roddie
The trumpet loses focus
in the blare of lights louder
than the note of its horn. Brass
burns brightly in neon, and glasses remain
icy warm in a confetti-streaked hand.
Whisper to me as the clock screams,
because the hands don't strike - they flail.
They gesture toward the emergency exits,
when it's too late for the ignorant to notice
and too early for the drunken to care.
by Belinda Roddie
The trumpet loses focus
in the blare of lights louder
than the note of its horn. Brass
burns brightly in neon, and glasses remain
icy warm in a confetti-streaked hand.
Whisper to me as the clock screams,
because the hands don't strike - they flail.
They gesture toward the emergency exits,
when it's too late for the ignorant to notice
and too early for the drunken to care.
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