Some days the light goes out in the hall,
Flickering unsteadily like cigarettes on
Windy nights out by the lake – unsteady steadies.
Awkwardly figuring out you were losing faith,
I literally chained smoked my nerves into a
Nicotine haze waiting for the over to be over.
I rise two steps towards the upper corner,
Unsteadily waffling on a two step, step ladder,
Given to me by my dad before he turned yellow
And died. The bulb burns my hand, a yellow sizzle.
How one forgets a lit bulb is acutely hot I don’t
Really know, but I remember why I did not change
It now. I remember why I put up with the flicker
For so long, sighing a sigh each time as though
Somehow the act of changing is really just too much.