Tired

the tv on low-
your breathing slows as you fall
asleep on my chest
–
the risen moon-
soft cries heard
as you fight sleep

feeling quite tired-
always the one left behind
cleaning up your mess
–
monday morning –
waiting for
the phone call

dressed in homespun
with an old straw broom, barefoot
sweeping the dirt floor
–
breaking sun
moist soil on
the coffin’s lid