Nightcap by Race Capet

In the darkness sirens sing their songs— a distant ballad of the bereft whose luckless night is the box spring of our mattress. The young ones in the park don't hear; they chew their music open-mouthed. But we who hear them are old enough to have learned these songs as lullabies; all along the rue we pull up the covers with a lusty sated sigh and light a cigarette.

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