Low Battery

A single, piercing chirp cuts the dark,

a electronic bird dying inside the plaster.

It doesn't care that I’m fragile or that the park

outside is silent, or that the clock is moving faster.

I stare at the hallway where the red light blinks,

a rhythmic, mechanical heartbeat on the ceiling.

It is the sound of a battery as it slowly sinks,

a warning that has no interest in what I’m feeling.

It happens every minute, a sharp and sudden spike

that makes the shadows jump and the floorboards groan.

It is the kind of persistence I’ve never been like,

screaming its needs until it’s left entirely alone.