Graveyard Shift on the Geriatric Ward
March 24 2024
On the night shift
the air's cooler
the lights dimmed.
The darkness is almost viscous;
there’s a thickness, padding through it
that seems to slow things down.
Time drags.
Nothing happens fast.
And in the preternatural quiet
even I feel relaxed,
despite the hyper-vigilance
I can’t seem to shake.
I love the solitude
even though I’m not alone,
moving among the residents
asleep in their beds.
Is there something unwholesome
about people like me?
The night people
who flinch from the light,
prefer their own company,
are fine
alone with their thoughts.
Especially the early hours,
before the sky’s first softening
when it’s not quite dawn.
The work done,
sleep soon to come,
and thoughts of the early shift
jerked from their dreams
bleary-eyed and groggy,
jangling alarm clocks
going off by their ears.
I lean back, and let my eyes drift shut.
No one tut-tutting
my slacking off;
no one
standing over me to judge.
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