Dispatch By Madilyn Hufford It is the golden hour PBS is switching from kids go to kids gone and the city has followed suit, tugging at the doors of the school to hurry with the advent of night All my friends have left me It is the golden hour I forget about being able to sweep the deck without fear and wait for father with food, Jeopardy to begin, school to start. I turn back to the tv, duct tape keeping me from switching from the Christian movies All my friends have left me It is the golden hour The lightbulbs take the opportunity to dim and match the sun I peel my cheek off the keyboard, look at the flicker until I can make dots on the walls for my entertainment They advertise a closed museum on the DVR. I long for the cool of the tile, but am met with the quick of the carpet All my friends have left me It is the morning I know I missed everything, but I hurried and threw on jeans and ran to the edge of the fountain anyway I didn’t text and run, just like you warned I didn’t tell anyone It is the golden hour My friends’ favorite time
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