a car alarm has been going since before the lot lights came on
no owner walks out to thumb the fob and end it
you turn your back to me the way a cashier turns the sign to closed
and turn the song up
a man is singing cheerfully about what the landlord's dog carried out of unit six
about a son who sold his dead father's teeth to cover the rent
about the pills and the voices and the street rotting up through the carpet
he calls himself a stain the rain gave up on
you know every word
and every line of it comes to me addressed
i put my hand on your hip in the dark and you move it
the way you'd lift a thing that fell on the bed
you say you're tired and the word is a receipt
i lie there as the item you decided against
returned unopened and somehow still used
i hold the form up to the glass and speak into the slot
the language i fill it out in is the one nobody staffs
it comes back stamped with a date and no name
i try again in plainer words and plainer still
the clerk is kind to the next person in line
the ramp tips a little more with every level
i grip the rail and the rail is painted to look like a rail
there is a version of me on the security monitor
grainy and slow and plainly a mistake somebody should log
a stain on level two the machines keep missing
the guard eats his dinner and does not look up
the noise in my skull has a pitch the lot has learned to sleep through
it climbs a half step every time you laugh at the part about the dog
i say your name into it and it doesn't lower
i say it again and the alarm takes the name and plays it back
the lot is full and the lot is lit and nobody is coming out to the car
i signed up for the pottery night and the painting night
my cup came out lopsided and my sky came out a brown spill
the woman at the next table had a fox by her second try
i dropped both in the bin before the break
the rest of the supplies are in the trunk of the car still sealed
the lights on level three go off on their timer one bank at a time
nobody comes to reset them
whatever was lit in me was on the same circuit
i stand in the dark part of the structure and listen for the click
and what i hear is the alarm
the tray on the nightstand sits until the grease turns white
the glass of water sits beside it like a debt
the body forgets how to ask for food when the room stops answering
i want to take up less of the lot
i want to be a space nobody has to pay for
tonight i wash all the windows which i never do
i hang your jacket where you'll find it
i write the gate code on the back of the electric bill
i fill in the line that asks who to call
with your name in ink
the line i left empty all those years
the clerk looks up for the first time
and i say thank you like a person leaving a good restaurant
you ask from the doorway if i'm okay
i have the whole language ready
every word of it in order
i say i'm just tired
and you believe me because it's easier
and i say goodnight
and you say goodnight
and the song comes back on
the verse about the stain
in the morning the lot will be strangely silent
the alarm having run its battery down sometime before light
you'll stretch and the whole bed will be yours
and you'll say thank god
somebody finally did something about that
and turn to tell me
—lyra moon (a car alarm that nobody answers gets logged as a noise complaint and not an emergency)
october 13, 2026