The Call Arrives at Midnight

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The call arrives at midnight

Don’t they always come?

In dank and dreary darkness

No matter who they’re from

Still alive at breakfast

Tousled half awake

Shaking out the cobwebs

Another night mistake

“He’s dead,” he says—then nothing

What else is there to say?

So clear, so frank, so certain

Sure as the break of day

What does one say at midnight?

Or breakfast or at noon

Alleviate the darkness

For one more afternoon

Hug the phone in silence

Can any words express?

Helpless, hopeless, heartfelt

Nothing I possess


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