Songs Of The Witching Hour Poem by Robin Bennett

My life has gotten stranger
through the years-
just last night flannel clad
boys serenaded me at
my window at the witching
hour-

Boys, with shrill voices-
much to young to
be singing out loud
at four am. Disturbing
my loneliness. Tossing
pebbles at my quiet window-

I was sleeping soundly
with myself tonight-
alone with my dreams.
Lulled into a tranquil
valium haze, calmed
by the pelting of a
purple rain against my
window.

Still calm like a fine wine,
on a pink beach I turn up
the Cold Play song and
swallow another pill.
I can no longer remember
if the barber shop quartet
was even anything but
a dream.