The End Of A Day Poem by Tony Walton

This day is ashamed of itself
and wishes to be done

in its defense it never asked to be born
anymore than the rest of us

who are lost within it -
drained and dazed in it's haste

staggering across concrete
staring into flickering screens

and the eventual falling apart of things
is the only payment that arrived on time

there is nothing left to save of it
so I have another beer at the Kings Head

and watch a woman slumped over a gin and tonic
her gaze blank into her phone

I walk towards the bartender for one more
as the air fills the spaces that my body has been

There is a quiet violence in life
I rather like it