The School of Night & Hyphens

The sky tonight, so without aliens. The woods, very lacking

in witches. But the people, as usual, replete

with people. & so you, with your headset, sit

in the home office across the hall, stuck in a hell

of strangers crying, computers dying, the new

father’s dropped-in-toilet baby

photos, the old Canadian, her grandson Gregory,

all-grown-up-now Greg, who gave her this phone

but won’t call her. You call her

wonderful. You encourage her to tell you what’s wrong

with her device. You with your good-at-your-job

good-looking-ness, I bet even over the phone

it’s visible. I bet all the Canadian grandmas

want you, but hey, you’re with me. Hey, take off

that headset. Steal away from your post. Cross

the hall, you sings-the-chorus-too-soon, you

makes-a-killer-veggie-taco, you

played-tennis-in-college-build, you Jeffrey, you

Jeff-ship full of stars, cauldron full of you,

come teach me a little bit

of nothing, in the dark

abundant hours.