So the midnight hour has struck
A fissure of light,
Snuck into the chamber,
Tortured or sleeping,
Of two men, creeping,
Silently investigating every fold and bend of tissue,
Pouring its surge of judgment through each portal,
Exposing reposing issues hidden from sunlight,
Tonight will alight an angel of rest or a demon of madness,
Crowning with peace or brandishing screams,
Consequences unlocked from justification’s chest,
Gleams of waiting eternity, unending dreams,
What will midnight bring?
Six o’clock, stuck in traffic, driving home from work, Glen was pleased with himself. Normally the wafting smoke of packed cars stirred his impatience, but not today. Today was different. Today was special, not like the rest. The usual pettiness of mundane disappointments couldn’t touch him. He was above it all, floating on the buoyancy of success. He’d been working hard lately, without neglecting his family. Promotion to manager only reminded him of how great a job he’d done. And right now, smelling the fumes of other vehicles couldn’t infect his happiness. As he sat there he noticed an adult book store next to the road, with a man about his age, chestnut brown hair twisted on his head, shoulders sagged, videos in hand, shuffling away from the door to his car. “Thank you, god, that I’m not like that guy. I’ve been there for my family, haven’t cheated on my wife. I’m respected at work. I’ve even got enough to give to the United Way, and today I’ve been rewarded for everything I’ve achieved.” He heaved a contented sigh and sank back into his comfortable, cushioned seat.
Saul hadn’t been sleeping much lately. It’s hard to sleep in a hotel with the sting of divorce rubbed on the sheets, thrown out for cheating with other women. He couldn’t remember how many. His 2 yr. Old son would probably never know him. Just like his father. It used to be the clink of glasses, ring of the cash register behind the bar that, dollar by dollar, piled the corners of his mouth high into a smile, his escape from the threat of his wife into the numbing, green paper drugs stuffed in his wallet, willing plastic arms of beautiful women thirsty for drinks. These women weren’t even real, trapped in plastic VCR boxes, chained to magnetic tape under the thumb of a scruffy porn shop owner. What had he come to? His feet dragged him to his car, waiting to stuff him in a casket of silence. As he heard the closing of his car door, he felt like he was sitting naked on sandpaper. He couldn’t bear to take his eyes off the floorboard, noticing every line in the pattern of black rubber, black like the hope of his future, empty, dismal, weak against the damning memories. “Oh, God, whatever You are! I don’t…know, I,… I can’t even talk to you. Man, I’m lame! I’m so…so sorry for who I am. Please go easy on me, a loser.
Cars creep to homes.
Food turns to bones.
Lights on and off.
Beds hold the sleeping of two men,
Conscience beating deep,
Painfully accurate blows,
Opening doors, inspecting storehouses
Stocked with memories, filled treasuries,
Provisions kept to endure or decay,
Fire testing the value of molten actions,
Honest or lie,
And the midnight hour strikes.
