Calls From The Hospitals

Saturday night I realize
I have been waking up
at the same hour for awhile.

Did the clock pin a night
when a call from the hospital
threw me into the road, made me hitchhike 
for miles before I found a ride?
Was it the mother’s turn?

I fumble for the switch, find the light,
but the house darkens. 
There is a mole problem, I unearth.

I ask the shadow escaping,
“Who referees the game, God or demon?”
The umbra only shrieks. The refrigerator
plays the midnight milkman. Outside,
a streetlight stands at ease.





Kushal Poddar
Photo Nick Victor





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