3 AM Alarm

Chirp. Then the dark. Then chirp.

My blood goes cold, I slurp

down nothing, heart a drum.

Why does this sound always come

when the world is truly still?

A tiny, battery-driven ill.

Chirp. And the red light blinks.

Against the ceiling, it shrinks

the night, makes sleep a joke.

I know this sound, I've heard it poke

at peace before, so sharp and thin.

Just one small cell, about to give in.

Bare feet on wood, the sudden chill.

Reaching for a chair, the dust-motes spill

in the phone's blue beam. A button press.

A short-lived silence, nothing less

than promised for an hour, maybe two.

Then, faint and far, it starts anew.