Jason Baldinger writes

First Shift

the sun ain’t even made its way to the horizon

hell, it ain’t even sniffed it

here I am listening

to the defroster fan

clank, rusty and metal against

the casing. it sounds the same

as my borrowed gin hangover

it sounds the same as the radio

playing snippets of songs

through the static

cigarette dangles from lips

zombie walk complete

in blue jumpsuit and brown bag

the third shift guys are loud

fresh with morning excitement

talking grab ass with secretaries

and nurses, bragging a thousand

things they ain’t never seen

deep breaths before a punch clock

angels bleed out in the sparks of morning

if I had anything left to be miserable

with I’d take my time hating

every minute of the first shift

 Workers punch in time clocks, Detroit Industry [detail] -- Diego Rivera