See What’s Become Of Me

What time is it, she asks. It’s
almost half past December.
Autumn’s fallen leaves are all
hunkered down out there under
woodpiles, awaiting Winter’s
grisly onslaught. She does not
lift her head or open her eyes.
It’s four fucking thirty in the
goddamned morning, I say,
Go back to sleep it’s
only an opening line.

3 thoughts on “See What’s Become Of Me

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