Good Night

Day's done. To what end, I don't know:
Some dollars made to pay for something
Purchased, cherished long ago, some effort
Made to roll back time, to paint the house,
To trim the trees; a meal, two meals, and,
Now, the liquor, waiting for the light to go,
And bed; a mark across a numbered square
Upon the kitchen wall, a baby step from
Womb to grave, the reenactment of
Some acts which must once have been
Done by choice; persistence in the place
Of joy; now twilight of the sky and mind,
An empty glass, an aching back. I shut
The shades with gratitude. The day,
At last, is done.



Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
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Written on 2014-04-29 at 01:05

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