Blue Collar

The drop of coin, the rustle of dusty clothes/dirty boots, brow still sweaty and beaten/lantern lit upon that old porch/swing on an old oak, laundry just about dry/the sun a murky orange upon its last rays of the day/warm bath, hot dinner, cool night wind/tomorrow one more day of toil, but in dreams, the weekend comes/children laughing, old friends and cold brew, a new blue dress for the missus/just whittle the week away in that grind until such time/under lit moon and the stars that call upon sleep

– Mitsuo Tanaka

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