At 3 A.M.
The dead are coughing in their stony boats.
The waves eat steadily above, below,
inside, beside. Their dream-born monster bloats
and burps, grown fat and strong on vodka, roe.
There’s coupling, yes: the memories and bones
might tingle-tinkle like a harpsichord
of tin, a zither made of pins, the groans
stretched thin as salt-fish in a winter hoard.
And we, awash in troubled sleep, death’s twins
that cling to fitted sheets, that listen to
the ticking of the sleet, the clock, the fins
and gills in wind, inhuman gibbers . . . . Who
or what is stuffing in or tugging out
the dark? Then waking us all wet with doubt?
Thomas Zimmerman teaches English and directs the Writing Center at Washtenaw Community College, in Ann Arbor, Michigan. Among his several poetry chapbooks are In Stereo (Camel Saloon, 2012) and From Green to Blue and Back (Zetataurus, 2016). Tom’s website: https://thomaszimmerman.wordpress.com/
