A graveyard worker sleeps
Posted on the door of my apartment when I worked the
night shift at the local 24-hour service station.
Lone Pine, California, 1975
A graveyard worker sleeps within,
Whose days are over when yours begin.
All night at Al’s ARCO he toils
Selling, while burning, the midnight oils.
This dubious commerce pays him well,
But without sleep his days are hell.
In order to amend this plight
He must convert his days to night.
He values friends who’re up all day
And hopes they feel a similar way.
So if you think your business’ll keep,
Come back later, and let him sleep.
But if, perchance, you’re from afar,
You just might find the door ajar.
Or if stalled plans just won’t work out,
You’re welcome, too, without a doubt.
If you leave, or decide to stay,
Remember this along the way:
As your days wane and his begin,
A graveyard worker stirs within.