Each sunset is payday at the docks
When the boats have unloaded
Nets full of fruit and boxes of watches,
The glasses you wear make your face
Seem electronic and full of stray pixels,
That‘s when I go to work and roll over
and pretend to sleep when whistles blow,
What blows is working for loveless cash rewards,
What’s in the nets, what lurks in the boxes
Is a guess answered only by thieves when
They work overtime against a woeful wind
Of the watch they’re stealing, and the next
Day all that remains are banana peels and
Apple cores falling from nets, into my lunch box
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