The Last Joule

I held the pen to sign the check for rent,

the yellow pool of light was steady, bright.

But then the little wire was finally spent,

a sudden click that ushered in the night.

A tiny 'tink' inside the glass was all,

a frantic shake before the dark came down.

The shadows grew against the kitchen wall,

a heavy, sudden, suffocating gown.

I unscrewed the hot bulb to hear it play,

the charred and broken loop against the side.

Like a dead insect, dry and burnt and gray,

the thing that kept the dark at bay has died.