Saturday, March 21, 2015

The old man next door

When I sat outside in the dark long enough I heard him singing these sad little songs and though his voice broke and struggled the words were like broken glass being coughed back up it was almost too painful for him but the song went on and the words never sounded so sweet the melody melded with the crickets owls hooted I heard a howling or two to the moon above and my cat snored little squeaks of bliss but then one night as the sad broken song surrounded me like flames the stars swirled above like a flushing toilet I shattered a wine glass I mumbled some curses and I never heard him singing since.

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