The night guard walks down
The half-deserted street
Occupied by three stray dogs or four
Huddled and coiled
Into a dirty half-sleep in the muck
A faint light cast from the street lamps
Halved by the mass of fireflies
Gathered in the dusty glass cases
A motorcycle booms past
Or a screeching car speeds away
Carrying half-awake sloshed zombies.
The ceiling fan whirrs
A fragmented moon shines on the cracked window pane.
I toss and turn on my pillow
Half a sleep induced by a tranquilizer
Waiting for a tomorrow,
Hoping for a full sun to shine.