the lights were turned off
and i sit in the dark
i think-in-the-dark,
meditating on the cumulative
transmutations, transformative calculations
tallied on some grand calculator
sitting up there,
look, in the sky,
counting out the atoms
blinking in and out,
in some ricocheting pattern,
until the calculator's batteries run out
eating the neon sign
floating overhead,
pretending i know what it says,
while walking, pacing, sprinting,
as fast as i can,
which i admit is not very fast,
from the filching, crab-like claws
pinching at the stars,
one at a time,
until the night drowns out
and i'm left in the dark
in the afternoon,
i go out onto the sidewalk,
stare up at the sun,
and bake
until i'm burnt to a crisp,
or until the rain comes,
though the weather
is rarely that polite
Fred Aiken Writing 