The sun comes up and goes down
no matter what happens in this town.
The stars come out through light pollution
and the moon offers light but no solution
On top of the bank headquarters, world far below,
I wonder if peace is a thing ever possible to know,
as I reach the end of my janitorial shift, watching sunrise,
wondering why, with all that’s happened, my wife never cries.
She’ll be asleep when I get home, maybe fifteen minutes before
she has to go to work, smiling all day, not showing blood on the sales floor.
I’ll sleep alone in our shared bed, the light accusing and unhappy, kept covered.
And I think of some other place, some other sun, unknown, yet to be discovered.
Right now the world is distant in the sunlight and the cool winds,
the reed is pushed around, pushed down, for it courteously never bends.
In the cool earth of the grave, the seeds that make way for another appointment,
Me and my wife will sleep side by side, away from loss, away from promises, disappointment.