My body twists in reverse,
Each foot perched above me
In an arch on the couch.
A bottle of gin lies to the side,
And a book flutters open
To a dog-eared page of a poem
That’s often been reread.
My eyes droop
Under the weight
Of another day done.
The work is over,
The money is made,
But it must be made again
Tomorrow.

For now,
We sleep.