Poetry, April 7

In honor of the hour at which I finished my short story last night (will probably post it in a week, after we do it in workshop), I present to you this poem by Donald Justice:





Poem to Be Read at 3 A.M.
Excepting the diner
On the outskirts.
The town of Ladora
At 3 a.m.
Was dark but
For my headlights
And up in
One second-story room
A single light
Where someone
Was sick or
Perhaps reading
As I drove past
At seventy
Not thinking.
This poem
Is for whoever
Had the light on