I Hate the Light Sometimes

My anger and resentment doesn’t

boil because of the crushing dark.

It’s expected and does its

job like a doomed soldier

crossing enemy lines.

I take comfort in its blunt honesty,

that bruising “this is it” smugness.

No, it’s the dancing happy,

jumpy sparkly optimism that

drags me into the stratosphere

only to tell me as the strings are

cut and “there is no reserve chute sucker.”

that really does me in.

I think without the rocket ride of

the highs it would be easier to

dig down deep into the soft earth

smells of the darkness and fetal myself

into the comforting dark refrigerator’s hum.