Title: “The Obligations of Evening”

Verse 1

At luncheon my companions cry, “Come out tonight, old boy!”

But my vocation’s nocturne shift denies their tavern joy

I nod with mild apology, an antiquated grin

For duty rings its iron bell precisely nine to ten

The calendar is yellowed like a telegram from war

And all my hours march single file straight out the service door

I hang my hat, adjust my coat, collect my lonely pay

Then promenade to labor while the city goes to play

Verse 2

The neighbor lady mentions in a gently lilting tone

“Perhaps a cup of coffee?” through the hedge that’s overgrown

Her phrasing bright, inviting light, a cordial little cue

But I must fetch the victuals for the cat and kettle stew

The feline needs his ration in a ceremonious bowl

And groceries must be cataloged in bureaucratic scroll

I murmur, “Soon, good madam, when affairs are not so tight,”

While she half laughs, half sighs, “Perhaps… some other night.”

Verse 3

Inside the house the corridors conduct a quiet trial

Where garments of my widow rest in sepia denial

A hatbox and a lavender envelope remain

Like delegates of yesterday petitioning again

I sort and stack and catalog in dutiful parade

Each ribbon, brooch, and photograph in hesitant charade

My breath a little tremulous, my ledger somewhat dim

The minutes tick like metronomes conducting some old hymn

Verse 4

Outside the world is laughing with its bright electric bars

While I attend domestic rites beneath indifferent stars

The neighbor hums a melody beyond the lattice gate

A phrase of hopeful harmony I cannot quite translate

For every time she ventures, with a courteous advance

My errands stage a counterclaim that nullifies romance

A cat requires biscuits and the cupboard must be dressed

And widow’s silks insist upon archival interest

Verse 5

So evenings pass in orderly, respectable retreat

With tidy obligations marching softly through the street

My friends still raise their glasses in convivial display

While I clock in with solitude and labor till the day

And she next door says brightly, “Sir, the weather’s quite divine…”

I answer mid-phrase, “Madam… I regret I must decline.”

For life has filed my loneliness in folders labeled when

And coffee waits politely… with a spoon for two, till then. 🎼