Late Night

One not so particular night
a lone wicker basket, simple
and wise whispers solitary wisdom 
to the wood chair it sits upon.

The chair cheered
chose to tell
the checkered rug,
the welcoming enlightenment. 

He watched,
grinding his maraca teeth
together, he is the
disturber of peace.

The wicker basket sunk
a little into the chair
as he approached
the chair panicked and dug

its legs into
the checkered rug
causing the rug
to sulk in silence. 

He stood on the rug
right in front
of the basket,
in front of the chair.

The basket sits still
pretending not to notice
the chair is solid like petrified wood
the rug went stoic under his feet.

He feels a cold obstinate
whiplash of emptiness
empty like this room
empty like the bed upstairs.