Shift Work

The sound of the awkward
silence,
as she tries to light
her cigarette,
sitting nervously on the bench
next to a young man.

He is at a loss
for a flame,
she struggles with the wheel,
the flint won't strike,
she shakes the feul inside,
but still no fire.

It's the end
of her shift,
the beginning of his
at 5 a.m
before the sun hits
the streets.

So silently they sit,
not speaking,
the buzz of traffic
passes by,
it's raining,
a bus screeches to a hault;
he casually walks over
to the door,
looks over his shoulder,
tips his hat,
she smiles.

Two strangers
without words
for one another
in a world lived
by the shift.