Perception in Late Night
I work the graveyard shift in ‘67
Stock shelves of “Marlboro Country”
For California slickers, tubes of
Ultra Brite “sex appeal”
Brushed by grim oldsters,
And Olympia, “it’s the water”
For partying young adults;
I close the flashy
cooler,
Pick up the empty card boxes,
Crumple and dump them in the trash bin;
Across the street a Texaco filling station
Slogans forth rusted, “Trust your car to the man
Who wears the star,”
But its “vacant for lease” sign
Came from the only auto to ford
Those shallow words.
I lean on a metal stool behind
The checkout counter, no customers;
Its past
Midnight's hour; so I
Close my tired eyes,
Rub my warm forehead,
The feel of bone so arched like a vault,
My skull under skin
Almost Neanderthal,
And my sense of self in that inner cave
Of stored memories, procedures, and ads;
What will be left in my finite end?
Suddenly like a lighted tidal wave
Overwhelming self and night,
Wide vivid A w a r
e n e
s s
Incredibly oceans deep--
Immersed unending caring acceptance,
Infinite wonder G_D
Previously published in
Word Catalyst Magazine
In the LIGHT,
Daniel Wilcox
