Clock says nearly midnight when I badge through the steel gray door,
fluorescent hum buzzing like it’s chewing on my core
Floor cold under rubber soles, forklifts whining in the back
like tired metal dogs circling the same old track
Supervisor on the mezzanine scrolling his glowing screen,
doesn’t know my name, just my number on the machine
Barcode guns chirp and echo through the rows of stacked up weight,
every beep a little reminder I’m staying here late
Hands full of cardboard dust, lungs full of recycled air,
I stack another thousand boxes like anyone would care
Cheap coffee in a paper cup, burnt taste and shaky hands,
my shadow stretches long across the loading bay and stands
Text from home says the kids are out, lights on,
waiting up, I stare at it too long then flip another pallet up
Some influencer somewhere smiles from a billboard by the tracks,
while I count down every minute till this place gets off my back
I’m rolling that pallet jack slow, back bent, eyes tired
and sore, dreaming of a sunrise I don’t see anymore
Punch in with a heartbeat, punch out with a sigh,
graveyard shift keeps rolling while the rest of the town gets by
Air brakes hiss on the dock, cold wind sneaks through the frame,
another semi backs in slow, same plate, different name
Buddy on line seven coughs hard, waves it off with a grin,
says the rent went up again and they cut his overtime in
Company sends a newsletter saying “big family,
brighter days”, funny how the happy talk never bumps up our pay
I tape one more busted carton where the corners split and leak,
thinking how my spine’s been singing the same song all week
There’s a quiet in this building when the clock crawls past three,
just machines and broken music from a radio near me
I whisper little promises into the rattle and the grind,
that I won’t die in this warehouse, lost in someone else’s bind
Dawn leaks in through dirty glass, pale light on tired skin,
buzzer screams the end of shift like a secondhand violin
I hang my badge on my chest, drag my feet to the parking row,
steering wheel cold as the paycheck running low
Sun just coming up while I’m sinking into the seat,
traffic starts to swell with the day shift down the street
I drive home through blinking lights, knuckles white around the wheel,
carrying every heavy hour like shrink wrap on my will
Tag
Graveyard doors swing closed behind me, but the hum stays in my ears,
one long endless hallway made of pallets, nights, and years