RED EYE

Troy Bird

I don't want to be here, not at all.
Not here, or the last place, or the place before that
But somehow all this displeasure
This aversion to my present standing
is overshadowed, if not eclipsed
by the repulsion of going home.
Of that cold empty bed
And the dreary prospect of a tear stained pillow
I am a coyote, a night scavenger
Feeding off the refuse left behind
by the daylight world.
Because the night refuses to nourish me on its bosom.