Sleep

Only a while ago their fumes died. Their tiny engines— those keep-go engines, the ones chasing and yelling changed their purrs into idle putters.

Only a while ago
their fumes died.
Their tiny engines—
those keep-go engines,
the ones chasing
and yelling
changed their purrs
into idle putters.

Now,
no squeak or hum.
No wide eyes.
Their fuel carries them
no more.

Lights out.
Silence.
Relief.
My ears perk to only
black
shadows
of nothing.

They sleep.
They drone,
operating the sound
of regeneration.

My heart sighs “relief.”
Eyes droop.
Hand quivers.
My gas screams “low.”
Exhaust fades
from my engine.

And I…

© S. Ann Comte, 11 February 2014

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Writer. What more can be said. Actually, a lot. So, just read and find out.

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