The Hospital Night People
scurry past my door with short quick steps,
commas of shushed sound,
More than daytime folks
These are the regal ones,
Solid blue, their colors mime the day–
They do not need Mickey and Cinderella and fields of bright flowers
On night missions.
Three AM is a colorless world, a soft gray hallway:
Night people rushing through shadows along the walls,
As if the center will reveal too much
And we will know
That they have names and faces.
In the morning light
They are as sharp-shaped as the rest of us.