The Chirp That Wouldn't Stop

I woke at 3:17 to the beep,

one chirp from somewhere down the hall,

and though I could have fallen back to sleep,

I lay there listening to the call.

One beep every ten seconds, maybe more,

a rhythm meant to steal your rest,

it builds inside you, to your core,

it burrows deep into your chest.

I could climb the ladder, find the thing,

replace the battery, make it done,

five minutes and the sound won't sting,

and I could rest before the sun.

But I'm lying here instead,

listening to the red light blink,

all my better sense is dead,

and I just sink, and I just sink.

By January the sound will be mine,

by February I won't hear it at all,

by March I'll draw some kind of line

between the beeping and the fall.

But right now, at 3 AM,

I'm letting the detector win,

I'm letting it get under my skin,

I'm barely holding in.