Night Shift
Let us now praise the night shift—
those on the 8 to 4, the 10 to 6,
the 10-hour or 12-hour shift,
the bread bakers pounding and leavening,
the pastry cooks rolling and filling,
the sleep-deprived, the heavy-eyed,
the pale and dark ones sleeping
through their days, ambulance drivers
with their bright sirens, pilots
whose planes move like wandering stars,
the dawn-obsessed, the checkers of watches,
nurses slipping into unlit rooms,
the uniformed, the dressed-down, the truckers
with their high beams on, the wired,
the goosed up, the dragged down,
the lost and lonely selling tickets at dim windows,
girls who kick their shoes off, the ones
who walk the aisles, security staff, night watchmen,
all those who guard our nights,
unsmiling collectors of tolls, bouncers
at the after-hours bars, strummers
of guitars, ticklers of drums, working
in the shadow world where fluorescent lights
stand in for sun and flashes of neon
pass for stars. Let us praise the yawners
and those who stretch to stay awake,
coffee hounds, speed freaks, Coke drinkers,
women splashing water on their faces.
Remember the blackjack dealers with their gleaming cards,
waitresses sleepwalking from table to table,
taxi drivers with a gun in the glove,
all the weary, the fearful, the men
who never see their wives, the nervous babysitters,
those dancing to strange music, the clank
and drone of the factory machines,
printers rolling out the news,
all those dreaming of dawn and sleep
until, at last, in the first hint of light, the clerk
alone in the 7-11 counts the change in the cash drawer
and closes out the night.
North American Review
