A trumpet blows the blue-black night
no thread of melody, a reveille of notes.
Dark spreads deeper than gloom--
a web tightens him, loins to throat.
Dawn lightens the room
his skin inks with shadows;
his scalp crawls, his eyes burn,
his heart turns to ice.
Cold fear arcs through him,
dread danger sharpens a stone;
his gut contracts, his hands clench
words surface, then lose meaning.
Again the crying horn moans;
its wail heralds desperation,
perhaps doom while the room spins.
When the floor turns, a key clicks.
A white door in this gray room
creaks, then opens slow.
A shadow perhaps a figure appears
Faceless, veiled in black, it shows
No mercy drifting to the bed.
He lies paralyzed;
The end closes, he trembles
gasps a choking sob.
Then a giggle erupts!
Her platinum hair catches a sunbeam.
"Did I really scare you?"
© Gay Reiser Cannon * 4.1.2012 * All Rights Reserved
Day 1 - April Poetry Month