Lethargic in the breakroom:
didacticism on how to survive
a work day…
Rain collects in puddles on the ground.
The puddles reflect all that passes by
the parking lot.
Inside those various vehicles,
who all drives behind their wheels?
What keeps this assortment of able anatomies
from work to sit in their sort of seats?
We, wilting workers, wish to walk back to our separate
bedframes and place our heads on our pillows
till these days turn into our tomorrows;
beneath the coughs and sneezes from fatigue, we continue to operate,
catching cardboard at the back of a metal mouth:
at the end of a cutter and feeder, packing the best boxes.
There was a false fire because of weather.
Since we cannot sleep, what do we think about in general halts of labor?
News on a coworker’s phone:
announcing China will process our prized poultry
we have grown and the endeavors of
manufacturing our meats; with worry about age and quality
in shipping, when the chickens fly home to our empty stomachs.
Some tantrum-like talk of people becoming
personal secretaries to bureaucratic business, from volunteering
to being a customer for their specialized shop’s services.
The conversation turns to a different chatter.
Contests for photos, marriages in Maui,
to be home with the ladies and men that we love,
and with my time I’ll turn over my soil,
and plant flowers in my maple grove.
These other thoughts are far above
the boring boards about the city blocks;
they are the modern man’s Shepherd’s calendar,
pastorals taken from a Greek field for shelter
underneath a giant garage my dad would love to order.
These are more than thoughts, more than plans,
more than investments. This list of wishes
away from work helps a man
make it through the labor to his happy home.