The Day At Night Poem by Darlan M Cunha

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After another day of absence he takes off his glasses
and from the body the sweat (then you take what's left,
everything that identifies him as a human being) ,
and so the day is almost over, there's still food to eat
something, then rub the sore feet
which, like every day, was gambling, losses
of promises and assumptions, also of gains,
the people say happiness is blind, I know
that this door and these windows know the traffic
and the heavy fear, the fury of taxes and contracts
now on the table, stripped of everything
what is not haste and exactness - every law in its place -
there you are on the couch, alone among so many, the night
...doesn't make a fuss about this isolated cell.

*