Third Shift Psalm

[Verse 1]
The hum from the coolers on Cottage Grove is a flatline.
Eleven fifty-eight, he's back again, right on the timeline.
His Bulls cap is frayed at the promise of a dynasty.
He slides the paper over the counter, never looks at me.

[Chorus]
It's another Tuesday, another dosage.
You measure out your love in slow doses.
A fragile pulse under the fluorescent.
A sacred kind of ache, ever-present.

[Verse 2]
His phone screen glows with her name, a single question mark.
I see his knuckles go white, a temporary spark.
I know that frequency, that sympathetic hum,
the body's secret negotiations 'til it's numb.

[Bridge]
He fumbled with the bills, a tremor in his grip.
The silence got too heavy, let the words just slip.
I said, "'Hey man, the pressure ain't the poison, it's the sign."
Then I turned and faced the bottles, drew a hard, straight line.

[Outro]
The little bell above the door sings its cold, thin note.
The air gets heavy with the words I never wrote.