Three AM Grind

Three AM.

Not the dog, not a siren.

Just the neighbor's garage door,

starting its long, tearing moan.

The electric motor, a low groan,

then the chain rattling, a metallic shiver.

Slowly, slowly, the heavy panel lifts,

revealing a dark slice of the street.

Then a thud.

Complete silence again.

Someone's coming home,

or going out, into the cold, still night.

And I'm just here, listening to the quiet,

a little more awake than I was before.