The Night Watch
He picks up where most of us leave off.
Even though his neck tie is always neat
and his hat is always proud,
trailing shirt tails languish 
absently by the his rear.
He swaddles his Eliot under his pit,
allowing his glasses to slowly dip towards
the tip of his bulbous, purple nose,
as he aimlessly admires "The Wasteland" again.
A saucer moon, bright 
as his spit polished shoes,
divides his station into bland shadows,
while the bloom of the CCTV 
weeps into his spectacle lens.
As the hours wander through
the urge to rest his feet upon the desk
overwhelms him, along with his 3am snooze.
But the teas maid he bought 
himself  for Christmas
alarms him from his drowse
so he can twitch with the larks
over his morning brew
while the dawn settles the argument.
At 6am the city boys hustle past
without a nod and at 8
the kids crash off to school oblivious.
As the receptionist reclaims her throne,
dusting away his crumbs 
with a poisonous leer,
his night watch is done again
and he shuffles off home to 
TV and civvies.
No one noticed his absence 
the next evening, or the next, 
and only the teas-maid 
and the morning larks will miss him.

Rembrandt van Rijn, Dutch master painter, was born today in 1606.

2 Comments Add yours

  1. schoolofblue says:

    Brilliant … ‘while the dawn settles the argument’

    1. Thanks.

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