No heroes; only death.

Every ring on the phone,
Every knock stops the heart.
It is a shot to start the mind racing.
Every nine o’clock news
We are on a diet of shortness of breath
A dessert of cotton fibers.

And then the silence.
And the relief.
And someone in the room grieves.
It is not me, now.
Caught in the suspense.
When will it be…?

The phone, the door.
The cycle starts again.