The Secrets of A. Roger

Once upon a time, a long, long time ago,
before there were lamps, before there were phones,
when the night-light was the moon, or the pale
ineffectual flicker of candles,
bedtime, supposedly, fell at dusk.
Today, blizzards leave us huddled inside,
imagining how alone we are, like
everybody else. Then, it was every night
externally imposed isolation.
What man can fight the dark? And so they slept.
Mostly. And woke halfway through the night,
to roll over, to fuck, to remember
the murky dreams they carried through the dusk,
to waste wasting hours waiting for the sun.