Failing Light

The thunder cracks, the lights all die.

I hunt the drawer, a panicked plea.

This old tin tube, held up on high,

just sputters, weak, for me.

Its jaundiced beam, a feeble fight,

against the storm's deep, inky dread.

It pushes back the endless night

by inches, barely spread.

A chipped Formica countertop

is all that it can show.

I feel adrift, about to drop,

with nowhere left to go.