Riffing on Andrew Hudgins' "Day Job and Night Job"

After my night job
I drank the moon, or
with the moon for a few minutes,
a Coke between my knees.

I sat in class and ate
Ramen warmed up,
fruits of the happening,
plodding through theorems

and mushmouth professors'
vitaes. Then comes soil
black coffee by the pot
and learning outside of logic.

Day job means I count the pills
that keep us awake and asleep
or somewhere between and
sedate, while all the women

there perk up their tits and suck
in their guts to preen a little
for the resident male, who spills
pills into his pockets and

counts them for his night job, wondering where the moon hides on cloudy nights.