Saskia Hamilton


 


 from Night-Jar

 

Before the dream, street-signs heaped
at the curb, mis-punctuating,

the first fucked-up students of night.
Sirens called us from our beds;

sleep, standing, like the horses, they said,
and lifted the gurney. The gas

and electric man winged by the van,
and the other one stretchered out too.

I had nothing to do but pick one up.
Fortune’s fortunate walked north.





© 2008 Electronic Poetry Review