Writing Resources from Fifteen Minutes of Fiction

Night shift

When passing through interiors the
night air disappears, at least from
each spark of current consciousness,
which sees only the sterilized hallways
reflecting fluorescent bulbs that
pretend it's always daytime, always
time for work and productivity, as
recorded on little blue time sheets.
Surely no one is sleeping in this city,
and no one else should be anywhere
else, looking at the moon, laying in the dark,
or breathing the night air through
screened windows, surely not
at a time like this, with keys clicking,
screens flickering,
lights lying to us as long as they live.

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