The Nightshift blues
Four-twenty eight and one second, two
Three seconds, five, six and seven seconds gone.
Four-twenty eight and ten more seconds
Beating to the drum of the nightshift blues.
Four-twenty nine and daylight’s forgiven -
Absent from this prison lit with strips of glowing screen.
Four-thirty am with the night shift blues
As white boxed workers hum forgotten tunes.
A hiss, a click, a dust shoot over head
Silent footsteps that patter out of bed.
Pictured memories that fade into sound
Where long lost thoughts still creep around.
Four-thirty three sings the nightshift blues
The whiteboard looks on, unknown, unseen.
A glassless window to an outstretched world
Closed-hatched, held back, stuttering into life.
The dreams of the lucky ones moving to fast
Seen for the first time, the teenth time, the last
Four-thirty something and a moment is stolen
Time is making chances, ticking backwards, holding on.
Minutes wished away, watchéd hands pass tired eyes
Hours cold and wasted, taking longer till they’re gone.
Four-thirty five and nineteen second heartbeats
Beat, beat again with the nightshift blues.