Two sentences, the second one stumbling along like a tired man, pacing the rush of hunger, hurried eating and falling asleep.
The last View
Some evenings
I remember quite fondly.
I often found myself
at the end of
a full day’s labor of
building, fixing and making,
with my arms worn
to harmlessness,
a general exhaustion throughout,
overlaying an appetite
for any food
in front of me
followed shortly by
a hypnotic need for sleep
that would sweep over me
and cause me,
should I dawdle,
to lay my head
just where I eat,
a last close-up view
of my fork and plate
as my eyes close.
4/23-Cassis
Coming into a warm house
After a day’s labor
Outside
In the winter
That tide of warmth
An undertow
Would overwhelm me
With the urge to lay for a moment
Upon the couch
And sleep
Hard workers deserve rest.
Well crafted poem!