from Night-Jar
Before the dream, street-signs heaped
at the curb, mis-punctuating,
the first fucked-up students of night.
Sirens called us from our beds;
sleep, standing, like the horses, they said,
and lifted the gurney. The gas
and electric man winged by the van,
and the other one stretchered out too.
I had nothing to do but pick one up.
Fortune’s fortunate walked north.
