2 Am

My lemon-colored hair Sprawls out 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 Is confiscated.