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!
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