By the time you read this, probably, you'll know
In the morning, whatever will have happened this night,
laundry will need to be sorted.
dishes will need to be washed:
toilets cleaned, beds made, streets paved, wires spliced,
workers, to use an old-fashioned phrase, will need to be organized.
Whatever our world looks like in the light of dawn,
somebody will be wiping butts, somebody will be turning wrenches,
somebody will be reading papers:
somebody will be hauling sheets six stories up in a hotel,
laying or taking up irrigation pipe in a field,
taking phone calls from the distressed.
All this will go on, just as it does every day,
whether there is a birth or a death,
whether the lights are shining or not.
Whatever will have been done this day,
tomorrow, there's still a load of work to be done.