Working The Night Shift by Ian Lewis Copestick

Brit Grit, Ian Copestick, Poetry, Punk Noir Magazine
Working The Night Shift
You drink yourself to sleep by 7’O’Clock
The traffic wakes you by eight
At nine you’re woken by the postman’s knock
By ten you’re convulsed with hate
By then the shops are open
mad with drink and tiredness you sway
to get another bottle hoping
you’ll get some sleep sometime today
By midday you’re so drunk you have to sleep
but it’s more like passing out.
Awake again by six, you’ve got a schedule to keep.
Back to work, your mouth’s a drought.
So you drink shitloads of coffee
with a hangover from Hell.
You’ve got to work, to keep your job you see.
So you’d better do it well.
By midnight you’re back in the swing
like a well oiled machine.
By seven, you’re well oiled again,
trying to sleep, to dream.