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Anne-Marie Hetherman

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Los Angeles, CA, US

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Black As Night

by

Anne-Marie Hetherman

Down in the basement of his lungs,
I couldn't live in the basement
of his lungs. Turn on the lights
then you could see. No seein'
if the walls are black. His eyes
poke me in the back. I see him
lookin' at me even when I can't
see him lookin' at me. But he
ain't seein' out of his lungs,
if he were he couldn't see.
Her bounce does a happy thing.
He smokes too much. It's a
matter of style, it's a matter
of thing. He still smokes too
much. That's his thing. That's him
in the corner smokin' up a
borrowed edge. Hang a light
bulb into his lung then you'll
see black as night. That's his
thing, black as night.