Nights Like These
By Steve Denehan
There is a time of the night
when time becomes fluid
starts to fray
ripples and sways
when a part of you believes
that the night will last forever
when the edge of the world is a haze
and blurring letters, emancipated insects
scuttle on pages
when it is impossible to tear your gaze away
from infomercials
and eighties hits
and B and C and D movies
yet
I find myself contented in this half doze
and I am sure that I will sleep well
if I can find it in me to drag myself
off this couch away
from this carnival of drivel
I promise I will shuffle down to bed
as soon as I watch the man
chop the mid-air pineapple in half
one more time
although
wait
look at how long that hose is extending
one minute it is neatly coiled
the next
the man in the purple polo shirt is hosing begonias
in Tim
buk
fucking
tu
I stand up and begin
the a.m. shuffle
toward tomorrow
life is here
life is there
waiting for me
and this is what I do with it
Steve Denehan lives in Kildare, Ireland with his wife Eimear and daughter Robin. Recent publication credits include Better Than Starbucks, Fowl Feathered Review, The Blue Nib, The Opiate, The Hungry Chimera, Poetry Quarterly, Evening Street Review, The Folded Word, Ink In Thirds, Crack The Spine, The Cape Rock, Visions International and Third Wednesday. He has been nominated for The Pushcart Prize and his chapbook, "Of Thunder, Pearls and Birdsong" is available from Fowlpox Press