Midnight Monologue*

You're leaving again
Why do you go searching for your soul
Can't you find it right here
At home where everything is in disarray
In a pleasant way
Because of the kids
Where Pops listens to the slow humming
Of his 50's transistor radio
Where Grandma fusses about our hairsprays
And Tita Bea, forbidding midnight calls

Go then if you must
If you think you can still find
A single unicorn to dance with

When you have left
I will miss your jokes and stories
All about the little people and Juan Tanga

Don't worry about Secrets
I'll feed him everyday

And yes, the nights you revealed yourself to me
Will remain hidden in the dark

*An attempt at speculative poetry. I don't really know what makes a poem speculative, but who said I couldn't try?