There I was,
and there I would remain,
Expectant and curled-up beneath the great trains
which had whistles and steam and a radio tower that lit up.
The trains were sleeping, but my breath replaced their din,
Escaping my lips like an anxious child.
It is not the darkness I fear.
I fear that my mischievous breath will plume forth and collect Itself into a crystal ball,
and then roll out from under the brick-red crepe paper,
a great red marble full of my embarrassment.
The clock clangs midnight.
I can hear my parents through the walls,
their secret laughter like soft explosions
accompanied by the faint swish and whisper of wrapping paper.
Now I can their slippered arrival.
My heart pummels in my chest with incessant fluttering,
sick of this distant observation,
insane with the knowledge that all this espionage is for me.