The Midnight Hour

The Midnight Hour Something about a woman’s beauty makes me go crazy. The woman puts her children to bed, so they won’t see what grown people do at night. Hands that touched. Skirts that danced around. The images, the view of couples. The music stops. Rage took over. The red headed boy that laid in blood. A dial for help, a place for sorrow. The party still goes on. Have you approached a face you never met before? The tales of the night, have you said enough to score? Clothes that smell like smoke. The band that played, the crowd went wild. The night is still young, the streetlights that came on. The dark blue skies of the late night. The bartender that said goodbye. The rush out the door. The sounds of the ambulance that drove by. The walk down the empty street. The shadows that flash from the streetlights. The midnight hour is still young. The red headed boy was pronounced dead at 11:45 p.m.