Daniel B. Silver



The sirens at noon on a San Francisco Tuesday
They tell me it’s Christmas, crisp, clear and chilled
I woke up to silence
An empty apartment
Put on a record
To occupy the silence reserved for your voice

Statements in starlight, they always seem prophetic
They tell me all storms reportedly pass in time
I sat there and shivered
A car that wouldn’t warm up
Turned on the stereo
Skipped songs until I found the one that made me think of you

The six o’clock bells of the church after sunset
They tell me it’s time to go out on a run
I pound pavement to nowhere
A boomerang to my starting point
Panting, sweating
My eyes water as the wind roughly blows

Murmurs in moonlight in the just after dusk
They tell me it’s time for supper and drink
I meander to what’s open
A man on a mission
Gotta eat soon
Or else my mind will wander to holidays past

The crack of a pool cue in the midnight’s barroom
They tell me it’s time for my flashback to cease
I take a sip of my whiskey
Close my eyes in the process
Drink drank drunk
Hardly a fitting tribute to he who died for our sins

The barmaid yells, “Last call!” three times in a row
She tells me it’s time to refill my glass
She asks me if I’m lonely
Grins when she says it
I smile back
I walk away before she realizes what mistake I’d be

At zero-four-hundred I stare at the ceiling
This tells me I’m screwed for the next day, again
I get out of bed
Turn on the computer
Put on that same song
And write these silly, sad words about you