Having wasted the bulk of his day
watching for scary things from behind the shattered blinds,
he eventually fell asleep
and his dreams were not at all scary.
He did not dream at all, in fact.

Back at the blinds the next morning
he felt uncommonly rested at first
but began to feel the boil of unease
within an hour of waking, thinking of every pain
that lurked out there, every potential death

by postal carrier and cable bill,
stray bullet and laughing, mayhem-fed child.
Another whole day of this is hard to imagine
but this was how he was — a rabbit
in a coyote field, a snail before a paving machine —

all the time.  And he told himself
it was right to feel this way considering the world
he had known till now, and that he’d be just fine
as long as he could always depend on being
completely devoid of dreams.