Graveyard

Shift into gear, and get up out of bed.
Peel open your eyes, shake sleep from your head.
A caffeinated kick in the teeth wakes you up,
Staining them brown from a cracked coffee cup.
It’s Night Shift again, and it’s time to go in,
To work yourself out, to wear yourself thin.
A sleepy-voiced loved one calls out from your bed,
You say “No, I’ve got to go,” and head to work instead.

The Sun’s dwindling rays are bleaching the sky.
Night shadows the road as you’re flying by.
Through windows flows wind that smells of today.
As you pull into work, that all fades away.
The air fills with grease, and grime, and sweat,
Sticky and humid, where each breath feels wet.
The Spring Peeper’s song is drowned out by the clatter
Of machines and belts, and workers who chatter

The job is not hard, the work is not grand;
Each move you make is meticulously planned.
But by others, not you; it’s outside your control.
It leaves your head open, and makes your thoughts dull.
The work may be shallow, the night still is deep,
If you weren’t busy you’d fall nearly to sleep.
You mete out the time, “It’s just an hour more!”
Your only reprieve from this tiresome chore.

The morning bell rings, a weight from you lifts.
You pass passers-by, an exchanging of shifts.
The belly of the beast is never without food,
For now you’ve escaped, but used and chewed.
At most you’re weary, or tired at least,
While you commute home, Sun rising in east.
Who shines on streets clogged of daywalker-folk,
Escorting you home, light keeping you woke.

You step through the doorway to no-one else there.
That’s just how it goes, to miss them by a hair.
So you kick off your shoes, and you wash off the dirt
With water so hot that it makes your skin hurt.
You sit and absorb the light of the day,
Try to take it all in before you fade away.
Before tomorrow comes, you had better turn in.
You’ll wake later today, and you’ll do it all again.