Cigarette Break

Moon
bright through the ghostly clouds,
and black puddle stain
on the frying pan cul-de-sac.
Far-off creak of the wind-slammed door,
stir of white paper
beneath the rocking chair fluttering
against cold porch concrete
cracks bare in the ancient yellow light.

The Jackal

I ascended the stairs, dark
with my heavy torch that sent
a circle of cold light skittering
off the stone walls,
and there in the gloom
the gleam of a slicked tooth:
the snarling red-eyed smile of the jackal.
The torch slipped to dance
back down those lonely stairs,
dragging away its beam
that shone like a crazy sun,
until I was alone in my room
with the beast
whose eyes still glowed, implausibly.