The Watchman

The morn rescued him from the night He stood in front of his open fridge And the pale light from the bulb within Bathed his skin with a morbid tinge Of a graveyand caretaker's pallor Wasted as a crumpled paper plate The cold breath of the fridge cooled him Smiling, he started looking for a beer That he knew too well wasn't there He reached in for a frozen ham he hoped He had forgotten deep in the freezer Wrapped still in a crumpled paper plate! .