I ignored him until he throttled down. That was not normal. It was a pleasant night, but an hour after curfew. City lights from Saigon to the east turned the dark a velvety purple, and the sweet smell ... [+]
Steve Denehan lives in Kildare, Ireland with his wife Eimear and daughter Robin. He is the author of two chapbooks and four poetry collections. "Winter Dark" is in Short Circuit #11, Short Édition's quarterly review.
I wake, creakingthe room is coldthe house is silentthe day waitsI tell myself to get upthe instruction is ignoredI tell myself to get upon the count of tenI count to tentwicelie thereon my backin the only piece of warmthfor miles aroundagain, I count to tensit up, stand upnotice that I grunt nowin the sittingin the standingI walk to the bathroomsore hipsore kneeI open the doorthe soundquiet any other timemachinegun loud nowwinter dark warm feet cold tiles I fumble for the light switchthe flashoverloading my eyesthe bulb blowswith a small popwinter dark, againjust one half second of light time