Five chirps.
A pause.
Five more chirps.

Orlo consults the guide
to his CO gas monitor to
decode this birdish alert.

Four loud chirps mean
open all windows, call 911,
move at once to fresh air.

If the pattern is repeated
after four minutes, levels
remain potentially grave.

Continuing, Orlo sees
that five periodic chirps
signify END OF LIFE.

He is not alarmed, simply
surprised at how physical
his final presence feels,

how solid flesh can be
in such a threshold space.
The doorbell rings.

He signs for the receipt
of a parcel. The carrier
doesn’t flinch, verifying

Orlo’s body now exists
in two realms at once.
The next charge is cruel,

depersonalizing:
“Replace unit at once.”
Such discourtesy baits

Orlo to overstay a bit –
just long enough to get
a glimpse of his spare.