Stooti's Poem of the Day

Even the bosses are sleeping latein the dusty light of September.The parking lot’s empty and no one cares.No one unloads a ladder, steps on the gasor starts up the big machines in the shop,sanding and grinding, cutting and binding.No one lays a flat bead of flux over a metal seamor lowers the steel forks from a tailgate.Shadows gather inside the sleeveof the empty thermos beside the sink,the bells go still by the channel buoy,the wind lies down in the west,the tuna boats rest on their tie-up linesturning a little, this way and that.