Anonymity of a Sunday Night – Lila Mo

half the clocks in my dorm
are broken — they give me
an illusion of time,
always stuck at 6 or 7
when really,
it’s midnight—

my slippers might be
a little loud, tearing through the silence
of my peers trying desperately
to make it
out alive

but soon enough,
two furtive shadows pass by—
faceless giggles in the anonymity
of a Sunday night.

I reach the laundry room
to a predictable sight
my clothes, once in the dryer,
lay damp on the floor

for the third time tonight

I want to find the person who did this
and ask for my time back.