Nighttime never ends;
the cold rain enforcing the quarantine choking our city. Sleep comes in bursts, the day-bed perched
in the side room upstairs from the nightclub my ship,
rolling in dreams,
the only sounds, giggling, and the mechanical dishwasher...
the slope through the room littered with dirty dishes and hard glances.
My job, the dishwasher, a bastion of nobility amid ruined lives and shattered hope, what could be...
a doorknob twist away.
Copyright © James Marshall Goff | Year Posted 2020
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