The light is bright,
but it has a condescending voice sometimes.
It’s also yellow, one of my least favourite colours,
and when it goes on and on at me,
I’m just a little overwhelmed.
Then there’s the crash of shattering glass
as feet shuffle, shuffle nearer.
A petty argument over my shoulder,
and no one’s answering the phone;
as I ring and ring,
I might as well be calling the moon.
I think I’d get a faster response.
Oh, but now here you are, my friend.
You’re taking my hand?
Why? – it’s okay.
It is, isn’t it?
Okay, I mean. With you looking out for me.
You just one-upped the light.