The angels hide their eyes, marooned in the stars tonight
In the blue light of the reading lamp, The Admiral pokes his head around the corner. He rubs his right jowl against the doorjamb, exposing his fearful teeth. He cries, and I look up to see what he wants.
Sitting in the doorway, he yawns, exposing more of his terrifying dentata. I call him, whistle, click my tongue; all the things he used to like.
He doesn't respond. In a magnificent gesture he leaves the room, and me.