Treasure Island

Pablo Cruise


Its 3: 00 am


Its 3: 00 AM in Minneapolis
The world is asleep outside my door
Across the street a light is beaming
It filters down from a 2nd floor
I imagine who is stirring
Who is sharing my purposeless plight?
The hook of their attention
Waiting for another begrudging day

I picture, there is a woman whose night is day and day is night.
She holds herself In front of her computer
For a loved one who is far away,
Heart in hand till that screen becomes his face
On the wall a calendar is hanging x’d not in days but commitment
She sips her cup just holding on

I see a boy who lies awake.
Under his covers where no love reaches
His throat is tight and his fear runs hurried
He replays scenarios of a life in question
No time for girls or competition
He struggles how to quell a father’s fury

I vision a man who hangs his head in his hands
His ventures buried and his marriage on life support
Searching for a bottom so he can stand
Contemplating endings he would never take
Tracing paths trying to find reason,
While his family keeps their smiles

I suppose a wife who is talking to her cat
A husband‘s lies are being prosecuted
The cat offers her no cross examination
As she counters her denial,
Wondering if it were somehow her fault
She gazes out the window still hoping that he gets home safe

I perceive a single father rehearsing impressions
A pressed UPS uniform is laid on the bed
Combing his hair, just happy that he’s back on somebody’s books
His world lies just behind the other door
Five years old with little expectations
This time he’s working for bread

Its 3: 45 as I gaze at that light
Still conjecturing my mind plights
The question lingers like the early hours
.........who narrates my weary nights?

Its 3: 55

What time do you have?

Submitted: Thursday, April 24, 2008
Edited: Thursday, March 05, 2009

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Comments about this poem (Its 3: 00 am by Pablo Cruise )

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  • Chuck Audette (7/12/2012 3:59:00 PM)

    A lovely poem - peeling back the walls and revealing and reveling in the stories therein. (Report) Reply

  • Mark R Slaughter (3/19/2009 11:22:00 AM)

    An absorbing reverie of thoughts about what others might be doing at such an unearthly time. This is a great generic poem that could be written for many such cities. Thanks for this Pablo.
    10 from me.
    Mark (Report) Reply

Read all 3 comments »

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