William James

working class poetry // punk rock performance

NIGHT SHIFT AT THE GROUP HOME


Tonight is long, and the forest is dark. I trade
insomnia for an hourly wage, watch clock hands tick,

drink watery instant coffee out of routine. 
Finish the paperwork, check it once, then twice, hear

the creaking of floorboards overhead. My client
comes downstairs and asks me if I want to play cards – 

which means keep me company, which means this night
is long and the forest is dark.
And instead of writing a poem,

I shuffle the deck
and deal a new hand.

 

[originally published in Brusque Magazine]

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