When Our Days are Over

by Brianna G. Harte

When does the day end for us?

Is it to the setting sun?

Or is it when our work days

Have ended after they’ve run?

To all my archi people,

Are our days numbered one?

If work is never ending

and a battle never won?

To all my artsy people,

Are our days numbered well?

If sleep comes in pieces,

When we see it can they tell?

To all my night-shift people,

From all across the land,

If our days end in dawning,

Is it sunlight that we sell?

Never has four o’ clock

Resonated with the world

For we all work in different zones

And the days have always swirled.

A 4pm is a teacher’s day done

And the 4pm is a trucker’s just begun.

No system can say

When our work is done

That there is no longer a day

When a Sunday transforms to a Monday

And we have never slept,

Who can say that Monday’s not Sunday

And calendars will suit me?

Copyright © 2015 Brianna G Harte. All rights reserved.


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