For today’s prompt, write an evening poem. A poem about or during the night. Or take evening a completely different direction and think of evening the score or making things more even (or fair or whatever).
Even though I’ve been awake for eight hours,
my day doesn’t start until you knock at my door.
The sun casts red highlights in your back lit curls
and I beg for an evening poem as the sky fades.
I’ve done my time to keep the economy churning,
the wheels of progress spinning, the rats racing.
The world owes me a few hours to be productive
without being paid, creative without compensation,
to do my real work, in hopes of leaving a mark
more permanent than mere minutes in meetings.
Cuddle with me now. Whisper your inspiration.
Grant me an evening of music and wine
so I can lie content with you in my arms
and dream the dreams of a poet.