Shift Work

The chain begins its heavy, rusted crawl

at quarter past two in the morning.

The vibration climbs up the shared wall,

giving no more than a second of warning.

It’s a grinding of teeth in the dark,

a metal groan dragging through the floor.

Down in the drive, a single spark

might catch on the lip of the door.

I see the red eyes of the sensor

staring back through the oil and the grit.

The air in the bedroom grows denser

with the weight of the things that don't fit.