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