Night Shift

We parted in the standard fashion,
Said “goodnight,” and left whatever else
We should have said unsaid, and she now
Makes her way out west, and I sit
At my kitchen table, slowly growing
Cognizant of all the noise, the rattle
And the grinding of the world in the daylight,
In its wretchedness, the noise that she
Had silenced in the hours she was near,
And my mind turns from tender visions,
Recollections of the way she smiled
When I called her name, and how she,
Somehow, seemed so graceful slicing open
Freight with me, to what again has filled
My eyes: the acts of war, the lying leaders,
Endless exhortations to attempt to satisfy
Oneself by buying one thing more,
The world, then, in standard fashion.
I wish she was here.



Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 13 times
Written on 2011-12-27 at 12:54

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