At the end of the day

I put my head upon a stone,

Cold and rugged

Like the Massah’s face

And barely harder.

The waning moon rose slily

Behind the clouds,

Veiled and hidden

Like the tender glimmer

The Missus’ eyes concealed.

The heat of the day transformed

Into sweat that clings

To eyebrows and replaces tears

I have long ago rejected

As useless, bringing no succour.

Were it not for the rare smile

The Missus would discard

In my direction, more refreshing

Than the waste I get to keep

This wasted body going.

The cane that lands upon the back,

The cane that lands upon the back

May bite as hard as wetted leather,

Her frown bites harder and the sting remains

Far longer than pure flesh may recollect.

The moon is cold and does not shine alone

It serves as mirror to the rays

That travelled far through space.

So far away from me is she,

As sun that’s gone and has no promise to return.