The Graveyard Shift
He lounges behind a desk in a late night vacant foyer
Answering calls, making log entries, and filing papers
The dark hours slowly leaking from his tenuous life
The phone rings and he repeats the same weary greeting
He issues information to faceless enquirers
Hanging up, sipping his coffee, he makes notations
Outside, the empty parking lot is speckled with light
Emanating from lonesome uniformly spaced poles
Illuminating the white lines of vacant parking
The sound of rushing steam, clanging metal, and cold rain drops
Echo upon the plate glass windowed empty cocoon
That bares the reflection of his tired, lost in thought face
Anticipating the next abandoned grave yard shift
© Copyrights G. Jones 2008
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