Nighthawkes
In the late night diner
they perch on bar stools
leaning forward
hunched against
the vast seamless window
that frames them.
In the darkness
hard fluorescent light
bares them blind
to the deserted streets.
They wandered in
on a troubled night.
To pick at the bones
of their marriage,
savaging the reaches
of their revenge,
in this mime of misery,
where there is no escape
and the coffee offers
only stinging bitterness.
They sit in the empty yellow
glare of spotlights
on this sprawling midnight canvas
that spreads its wings
and submerges us all.
© David Loffman
21 October 2006
