It is late.
It's always late
when I sit down to enjoy the quiet of a house being cooled down by ceiling fans
and an air-conditioner that pops and cracks like ghostly knees and ankles
crouching outside my bedroom window.
I should be asleep
But it is late
And it is quiet
And if I close my eyes I can pretend the traffic noise seeping through my window
between the knee and ankle pops of the air-conditioner
is really the beach
beckoning to me to relax
to realize my shoulders should not actually touch my ears
especially when it is quiet
and everyone is sleeping