Scanning the night

Scanning the night
for the perfect metaphor,
I pass the dumpster,
the porch light,
and anywhere else
that the insects gather.
Scanning the night
for the perfect metaphor,
I sit alone and drink
like so many that came before.
I change my bed lamp light bulb
from orange
back to green,
hoping some horny genius
in the filament still remains.
Scanning the night
for the perfect metaphor,
I snap open the oven door
and step back from the graying kitchen,
to admire how everything gets lit
from so deep and low.
Scanning the night
for the perfect metaphor,
I become very tired
and so I surrender to sleep
without a poem.
I finally give it up by 11 p.m.
like an abandoned egg
to gravity
and then
to loam.

written on 06/23/2010 by: Matt Kane