My lemon-colored hair
Covering the pastel silhouette. Of my pillow.
Almost expectedly. The phone rings
Piercing a silence. That lay thick.
Immediately, I answer.
It's my son.
He asks if I want the good news
Or the bad news first. I say the good news.
He made bail.
\Walking through the precinct,
My footsteps are sufficiently echoed
By my racing heart. I'm too tired
To be this angry.
And as I pass. Through Weapons Check
It's reassuring to note. That my eye-lash curler