Sonnet #397

 I’m supposed to be working but I’m not

I’m waiting for the next work, the jobs

Of life continue, until the closing bell robs

Time’s trailer of time’s cargo, but I’m not

Racing out the door to work, I’m holding still

The echo of the money is in my back

And in that sound my left knee makes, the cracks

Of bones that aren’t intended means I will

Probably eat tomorrow. Tonight, I wait 

Let moon rise and rain fall and all

Gods creatures settle down, and the beggar’s plate

May pass around the pews without me. Let’s call

This off — The sparrows in their splendor mate

Among the reeds and wander south to fall.