The Night Laughs

A poem. My finest work, honestly.

Jan 07, 2026

(New here? Click this to learn more about my publication.)

It’s been a bit of a rough week over here in my quiet corner of Dania Beach. I fell ill on New Year’s Eve, which was awful, as I had to perform that night until 3 am.

Despite my scratchy throat, the gig went well. However, I’m still congested and feeling like shit. So, in lieu of short fiction, I waited until the last minute (naturally) and churned out a poem.

You really don’t need to know what inspired this piece, because I’d just write something dumb like “cigarettes”, or “the canal in my backyard” or “the dead body in the canal”.

See? I’m already losing you.

Anyway…

The Night Laughs

Text within this block will maintain its original spacing when published

The Night knows no Shadow
She adheres to no
God; no creed, and
demands nothing but the
Moon, who croons back
at the Sun, legato,
with Her doting
lullaby

And we, the Troubadours,
know only
fragments of Her
song; we gave it a
name—"The Blues"—then
bolted shut the 
doors of the
juke joints where Man's
prayer was last
received

Every flower on Earth beckons
Her grace, the Night's, for
petals scorched by eternal 
Day would
wince and 
wither; but Man,
embracing endless
bastard Sun, refuses to
clock out and go
home

He hides from the Night, as He
has been conditioned to 
do by His punitive
God—His Timepiece—to 
which He is
bound and for Whom He
performs

Not for Love, as does 
Aphrodite; nor for music,
like the fallible
Troubadour; instead, Man
makes haste for
Father Time, and 
at this, the Night
laughs

For She may know not of Shadow,
and surely She knows
not of brutish
Day, nor its fiery singe; for
the Night, unlike Man, is 
content, and
demands nothing but the
Moon, who croons back
at the Sun, legato,
with Her doting
lullaby

“Scott Crain was taught in Broward County, Florida public schools and educated in South Florida bars and stages. As a singer-songwriter, he has long been drawn to stories of the struggle, of love and paychecks that are not enough; of families that work like families should, to a point; of triumph and failure as it is lived in humid, sticky circumstances. Now, he is turning that eye to poetry.

A familiar face on the South Florida music scene, Scott has been a part of a number of bands. He also runs independent record label Unfiltered Southern Grit. His writing mixes humor and indignation, cold-eyed realism and hard-won optimism. He is an exciting young voice whose words thrive on the page as well as they have when coming from a microphone.”

- Erik Petersen