After Midnight

They line up in bed thusly:

Middle-aged man, soft but still square in shape,
like a block of unmolded clay, sleeping.

Too thin, too sensitive, nine-year-old boy,
air whistling from his snot-caked nose.

Middle-aged woman, near blind without her glasses,
worrying about her thighs, trying instead to think of Aruba.

Gray cat.

Cat stretches and climbs
on woman’s chest, settles its body
on her warm sternum, sticks its nose
by her nose to suck up her air.

Woman pets gray cat’s head,
wonders if anyone has died like this.