sweating between hot cotton sheets,

asking themselves have they turned off

the heater, oven, iron, and coffee pot?

Her hair spray and his shaving cream

that used to flirt in whispers

now hiss and hasten armageddon.

In bed, he hears distant

polar glaciers dripping

while she listens

to the night sky ripping.

They are counting on sleep

for a thimble of relief.

They are counting.

first published in Scholars & Rogues