Night Shift Lady

Tell me of the needles driving into your soles.

Tell me of the broken clock that seemed to tick backwards.

Tell me of the aching sores that dare call themselves responsibilities.

Tell me of the fire in your eyes at three AM.

Tell me of how that ogre wouldn’t let you scurry

From his cave until you finished counting his stones,

Twice,

And cleaning up the coffee that he spilled in the breakroom.

Tell me of the monkey that kept climbing up and down

Your back and pinching you every time you had to put something on the bottom shelf.

Tell me of your pain.

Tell me of the horrific walks home.

Tell me of how you can hear the alley purring.

Tell me of the street lights winking at you.

Tell me of the wind that strips you of your comfort.

Tell me of the purse at your side that whimpers

The whole way because he feels he’s no match for the

Goblins that creep in the shadows.

Tell me of your fears.