Greg Huteson

A Bedtime Inventory

The ivory blinds with chips and cracks
that partly bind the dusk,
a weather-beaten shield.

The silver lever on the door
that gleams in evening haze,
a certain signal fire.

On textured walls, a yellow light
that jaundices the white,
a trick that scares the child.

Hung near the desk, a calendar
that lists the days of June,
the phases of the moon.

A raucous quarrel in the street
that samples every curse,
a frightful lullaby.

The rasping hum of cars and trucks
along the interstate,
a racket though it’s late.

The sploshing of the kitchen pots
within the iron sink,
armada of the ghosts.

The Bible on the nightstand shelf
to keep one through the night,
a talisman of light. 

But should he die before he wakes,
O Lord, he’s hid below
both teddy bear and quilt.

Greg Huteson is the author of the chapbook, These Unblessed Days (Kelsay
Books, 2022), and his recent poems have appeared in Joie de Vivre
Journal, Blue Unicorn, Amarillo Bay, and The Literary Hatchet, among
other places. He has lived in East Asia for many years and currently
resides in Taichung, Taiwan.