Under the strawberry moon,
it’s all empty
and nothing moves.

I sell my soul
for a twelve-hour shift
with shit pay.

Clock in and out
without a word,
and leave.

In the gold light
of the morning, 

storm clouds explode.

Cats wander over stone fences,
into the woods

where everything is alive.

A rain puddle stills
to pure brown eyes.

Peter Shaver has published poetry in various publications, including Aperion Review, Catfish Creek, and Connecticut River Review. He is a 2018 graduate of the University of Scranton and resides in Pennsylvania, where he works as a substitute and EMT.