4 A.M. By Kenneth Fearing
Production and Sound Design by Kevin Seaman 4 A.M. by Kenneth Fearing It is early evening, still, in Honolulu, and in London, now, it must be well past dawn; But here, in the Riviera Cafe, on a street that has been lost and forgotten very long ago, as the clock moves steadily toward closing time, The spark of life is very low, if it burns at all. And here we are, four lost and forgotten customers in this place that surely will never again be found, Sitting, at ten-foot intervals, along this lost and forgotten bar, (Wishing the space were further still, for we are still too close for comfort) Knowing that the bartender, and the elk’s head, and the portrait of F.D.R., (All gazing at something of interest beyond us and behind us, but very far away) Must somehow be aware of us, too, as we stare at the cold interior of our lives, reflected in the mirror beneath and in back of them. Hear how lonely the radio is, as its voice talks on, and on, un- answered; Notice how futile is the nickel dropped in the juke-box by a customer, How its music proves again that one’s life is either too humdrum or too exciting, too empty or too full, too this, too that; Only the cat that has been sleeping in the window, now yawning and stretching and trotting to the kitchen to sleep again -- Only this living toy knows what we feel, knows what we are, really knows what we only think we know. Soon, too soon, it will be closing time, and the door will be locked; Each of us will be alone, soon, with something ravaging for a name -- (Our golden, glorious futures, perhaps). Lock the door now and put out the lights, before some terrible stranger enters and gives, to each of us, an answer that is the final truth. They say the Matterhorn at dawn, and the Northern Lights of the Arctic, are things that should be seen; They say, they say --------- in time, you will hear them say anything, and everything. What would the elk’s head, or the remote bartender say, if they could speak? The booth where last night’s love affair began, the spot where last year’s homicide occurred, are empty now, and still.
