At the End of the Day

The sky above is dark,
the far horizon bleeds
and we are done with work.

The difference is stark
for those with gnawing needs
whose sky above is dark

with hungry birds which lurk
and dive to pluck up seeds
undoing all that work.

As timid dogs will bark
at wind disrupting weeds
(the sky above is dark),

the laborer and clerk
snap at the hand that feeds
on all they do, the work

to build the wall, the park,
the palace of printed deeds.
The sky above is dark.
We are not done with work.

J. B. Mulligan

If you have any comments on this poem, J.B.Mulligan would be pleased to hear from you.