when morning comes

exhausted
tired.
beat. beyond words.
sagging
as I come up the hill,
up the street.
the empty pail
swinging on my arm.
the dust of the day
in my eyes,
a grey silt on my shoulders.
i'll open
the door, drink
a glass of cold
water from the tap,
search
for a bite
to eat. i'll stare out
the window
as the cold sun
falls over each slanted
roof.
i'll take off my boots,
lie down
and begin again
when morning comes.