Getting ready for bed last night,

I heard, in the distance, a cry.

An owl? A dog’s bark? No, a man

Howling at his disappointments,

At his bad luck, his one mistake,

His limp, his pain, the sucker punch

Which floored him when caught off his guard.

Then, all at once, the silence fell.

As I sank into the mattress,

I thought of his long night ahead,

Of good deeds that he must have done,

Of sunrise he may never see.

I prayed: let his cry start again,

And I fell asleep, as one does.