Sitting on the deck in a restless can’t sleep night,
No sirens wailing, no traffic noise to puncture the quiet.
The city slumbers and I’m wide awake, cigarette in one hand, glass of Jack in the other.
A visitor comes and takes his place in the tree next to me.
An owl has become my lone companion in the darkness.
We settle in, he and I,
I’m wide awake, cigarette in one hand, and a glass of Jack in the other.
I like the juxtaposition of serenity (no sirens, no traffic) and restlessness in this poem. It gives just a slight amount of tension.
Makes me wonder what you’re thinking about as you look into the night.
Really nice.
Thanks, Anita. First for calling it a poem (questionable) , and asking the question. I’m not sure what I think about at night. But it is usually the sort of things I don’t think about during the day… 